


The Sinking Ship

by UnfortunatelyObsessed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Book of Enoch, Castiel's Past, Character Development, Destiel - Freeform, Dramabox, Feelings, First Kiss, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I did so much research, Love Confessions, M/M, Ma'lak box, Maggie deserves better, Mutual Pining, Oh I should put some actual tags in, Pocket Dimensions - Freeform, Reminiscing, Rollercoaster of wholesomeness and fear, Scientifically Sound, Slow Burn, Soft Talking, Time Travel, Underwater, Wow they never gave Maggie a last name, biblically accurate, cas explains stuff, castiel talks, dean's box, fuck that, it's bed sharing in a way, nebulous feelings, season 14, stuck forever, the creation of the universe, the ocean, the whole shebang, they all do, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-10-18 14:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 65,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfortunatelyObsessed/pseuds/UnfortunatelyObsessed
Summary: When Dean sinks to the bottom of the ocean, Castiel is right there beside him."Tell me," Dean said, letting the bubbles skim across his lips."Tell you what?" Cas asked."Everything."





	1. Always Been a Storm

Dean felt the crash of water against the sides of his box – his coffin. He heard the sound get muffled, felt the cold water flood in. His heart hammered. He had done well not to think of this, up unto this point. Now, he wished he had thought some more.

 _Alone_ , he thought. _I am alone with Michael_.

He felt a shuffle beside him and jumped, not yet ready to face the archangel.

His head turned and his nose brushed against another.

Even in the pitch black of his own sinking ship, he recognized the scent.

“Hello,” Castiel said plainly.

“Cas!” Dean said, trying to sound cross but only sounding relieved. “How did you…?”

“I can turn invisible, if you do not recall.”

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out of him, even as his chest was now soaking with frigid water.

There was a brief surge of light, and Dean felt different.

“You should be able to breathe fine now,” Cas told him, nose brushing as he nodded resolutely.

“You shouldn’t have stowed away, buddy,” Dean whispered, knowing it was too late, unable to stop the smile on his face.

“Well, who else was going to quote the entirety of Tombstone with me?”

And Dean was laughing underwater, lungs filling with liquid as he held Castiel close.

“I just can’t get rid of you, can I?” Dean said, words bubbling.

He felt Castiel smile. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a tumblr ficlet, but now I'm having ~ideas~ so here's a full fic in the works xD  
> Title taken from a line in Fleetwood Mac's song "Storms"
> 
> "So I try to say good-bye my friend  
> I'd like to leave you with something more  
> But never ever been a blue calm sea  
> I have always been a storm"


	2. Remember When

“Eternity,” Dean said, trying to imagine where Castiel’s face was.

“What of it?”

“That’s how long you’re stuck here with my sorry ass.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

Dean smiled slightly, wishing more than anything to see Castiel’s face once more, to truly memorize it this time. “Do you ever miss it?” he whispered.

“Miss what?” Cas whispered back.

“Heaven. Your family. You gave up so much for us, and now this. Was it really that bad?”

Castiel made a thinking sound, leaning his head back against the metal side of the coffin. “It wasn’t all bad. I don’t miss Heaven, though. If anything, I miss the way things were when I was very young.”

Dean half-laughed. “I don’t really think of you as ever being young.”

“Oh, you would’ve loved me. I couldn’t obey orders and was always getting into trouble.”

“I don’t think you’ve changed at all buddy.”

Castiel laughed slightly, smiling fondly through the dark. “Things were better then.”

“Tell me,” Dean said, letting the bubbles skim across his lips.

“Tell you what?” Cas asked.

“Everything.”

“I’ve been alive millenia,” Cas warned him. “I could talk forever.”

Dean smiled wide, the first true smile he’d had in what felt like years. “Forever I’ve got.”

“Very well. Where should I start?”

“Start at the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Remember When" by Alan Jackson
> 
> "Remember when thirty seemed so old   
> Now lookin' back it's just a steppin' stone "
> 
> (fun fact: This is my parents' song ❤ )


	3. Flies on the Butter

The first thing I ever saw was Gabriel’s face.

He had many. Humans weren’t meant to perceive such things, but perhaps you can imagine. Every animal you know, some you do not, all as a kaleidoscope atop his many-winged body.

He was beautiful.

“Hello, angel of Thursday,” he said to me. In Enochian, of course. Everyone spoke Enochian until Babel was struck down. Did I ever tell you of Babel?

_ “Castiel,” Dean half-scolded. _

I will get there eventually, I suppose. As I was saying, he called me the angel of Thursday, and I didn’t know what either of those things were. Thursdays hadn’t been created yet. And how was I to know what an angel was? What future awaited me, a tiny fledgling?

_ “Time didn’t exist?” _

Not as such, no. Things simply happened. Life flowed this way and that, and there was no rhyme or reason. Sometime in the future, I will explain the concept of time to you. Did you know it doesn’t run in only one direction?

_ “Cas,” Dean said, laughing. _

I apologize. There is simply so much to tell you. Where was I? Ah, right. Gabriel. He named me Castiel, and then promptly began referring to me as “Cassie”.

He told me that I was created to serve our father. I had asked where our father was, and he shrugged and asked if I would like to learn to fly.

Things were better then.

When Gabriel left, it seemed as if he took all of Heaven’s joy with him. I sometimes felt as if I was the only one who truly missed him. He was my closest brother when I was small. It broke me when he disappeared.

But before that, before things got bad, there was much happiness in Heaven. Angels were allowed to roam the Earth freely. They called us Watchers, and we guarded humanity. Though it was forbidden, a few of our ranks decided to bed humans, and the nephilim came to be.

_ “Like Jack?” _

Only in name. The nephilim of old were the size of mountains and much less powerful. They still far outranked humans, though. Humans… They see something large and powerful, and they begin to worship. They called the nephilim “Titans” and fell prostrate before many of them.

\---

“Woah woah woah. Back up. Titans? As in like, Greek gods and shit?”

Cas nodded. “Many angels were mistaken for prominent religious gods. Gabriel was regarded as Loki for a long while.”

“Were you?”

“Hmm?”

“Were you ever mistaken for a god?”

“A god? No.” Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Creation was slow, to return to your initial question.”

Dean grinned. “Hold on, back it up. You just avoided that. If you weren’t a god, what were you?”

“Really, stories should be told in chronological order.”

_ “Cas.” _

Castiel sighed. “They called me Achilles.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, water flooding his mouth. “Achilles. As in, the greatest warrior Achilles? As in Trojan War Achilles?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s eyes were wide. “What was she like?”

“Who?”

“What do you mean who? Helen! Helen of Troy! The most beautiful woman in the world!”

“Um…”

“You  _ did  _ see her, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes…”

Dean reached out and held Castiel’s shoulders. “Cas,” he said levelly. “You’ve gotta tell me about her. Was she really the most beautiful person ever?”

“She was… the second most beautiful human I had seen at the time, yes.”

“Second? There was someone  _ more _ beautiful than Helen of Troy? They fought a whole war over her!”

“You asked for honesty.”

“Who was it? Who was more beautiful than Helen of Troy?”

\---

There was a world of man, and a world of gods, and yet no creature stood out in beauty as bravely as a warrior-healer named Patroclus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Flies on the Butter (You Can't Go Home)" by the Judds
> 
> "Oh, oh, it doesn't seem like it was all that long ago  
> Oh, oh, you can dream about it every now and then  
> But you can't go home again"


	4. Getting Colder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short because college has been crazy, but I felt like this needed an update!

He was not someone most would take a second glance at. He had no defining features. In fact, one of his skills was that he hid well in a crowd. He was entirely ordinary.

And I loved him fiercely.

I knew I loved him. In those days, angels still roamed the earth freely, and the nephilim stowed away inside mountains. I was not ostracized for my feelings. Many angels loved many humans. The only rule was that we were not to bed them, and, even then, hundreds of years passed before any of us were punished.

We believed ourselves free.

\---

“Wait,” Dean said, hand briefly touching Castiel’s arm. “Patroclus was a man.”

“The best of men, yes.”

Dean’s hand slipped away and he frowned. “You were a man.”

“I am now, and always have been, an angel. Gender means nothing to me.” Castiel paused. “Does this bother you?”

“I mean, no. No, not really. I just… didn’t know.”

Castiel regarded the silence thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should skip Patroclus for now and return to him in a few years.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Years? How long have we been here?”

“You can only ask once.”

“What?”

“Dean, eternity is a difficult concept for humans to grasp. Their entire existence satellites around the concept of time. Yet time is an illusion. A social construct. You have to let it go. I will only answer that question once. Shall it be now?”

There was a brief silence, then, “No.”

“Very well.”

Softly, Dean whispered, “Can I ask if it’s likely that Sam is still alive?”

“You can ask. I won’t tell you.”

“Is this eternity? Wondering to myself if everyone else is dead?”

“If you wait long enough, the answer will always be yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "You Said You'd Grow Old With Me" by Michael Schulte  
> "Thought we had the time, had our lives  
> Now you'll never get older, older  
> Didn't say goodbye, now I'm frozen in time  
> Getting colder, colder"


	5. Crazy-Assed Cosmonaut

“Tell me about Creation. Not as in like, your childhood but... the planets,” Dean said softly, eyes open to the endless dark, imagining he could still see the sky. "The stars." Why didn’t he memorize them, all those nights he had lain underneath them? Now he could only pretend to see dots with no form, no hidden shapes. Had he forgotten the night sky, so quickly? What else had he forgotten? “Please,” he added, desperate to escape his thoughts that had begun to pound like fists.

“I’m not sure if I can explain it such that you would understand.”

Were those real yells Dean heard inside himself, or leftovers from a memory best left forgotten? “Will you try?”

There was a steady hand on his shoulder, gentle, reassuring. “Of course,” Castiel said.

\---

At first, there was nothing.

It was not darkness. It was merely nothing at all. God and Amara were but warmth in the universe’s bosom, thoughts not yet thrown to the wind to germinate. Beings were forming at arm’s length, babies born into the cosmos. Powerful rulers and terrifying villains.

Of course, I witnessed none of this.

No, when I was created, God and Amara stood side by side against the nothingness, hand in hand. They loved each other, often speaking in ways my mind was not made to comprehend. Their tongues would weave worlds in a breath, and blow them away in another. There were many trials until Earth was formed, as you know it. It took both no time at all and forever.

I remember flying out to the clouds with Gabriel, before solid form existed, when chemicals were swirling mesmerizingly and we wondered to ourselves what could possibly be more beautiful.

When Earth became solid, it was just molten rock.

And we thought it wonderful.

We would fly in droves and watch the swirls in disbelief, for out of nothing there came Something. We circled time after time, watching as the rock hardened, as dirt formed, as the first microscopic organisms began their equally microscopic journeys.

Life out of nothing. Beings not like us, but also very much like us. Beings created by the same father, the same God. They were single cells, not even crawling, and we called them “Brother.”

The first step we took upon the Earth was remarkable.

Our feet had never touched solid ground before, our soles had never been dirty. We laughed and ran and played, drinking the water and watching as things swam about in it.

The things grew, slowly but surely. Or perhaps they grew very fast. I couldn’t tell you. God did not invent time; that was an entirely human invention.

I was a careless child. I did not watch where I stepped. I rarely looked down at all. My head was held high, always turned towards my creator.

I ah… I almost stepped on the first fish to crawl onto land.

\---

Dean covered his nose as he snickered, shoulders shaking.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“It’s just… That’s so _you_ , Cas. It’s just… kinda cute.”

“You should be grateful that Gabriel stopped me.”

Dean’s laughter slowly died. “Why are there still fish?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why are there still fish? If they evolved, why didn’t they _all_ evolve?”

“God gave up control of creation after he locked away Amara. It was free to grow as it chose.”

“So none of this was meant to happen?”

Castiel was silent for a while. “I once would have said that of course it was meant to happen. But to be entirely honest, I don’t know. Perhaps this was all merely chance, a random roll of the die.”

“Our dice suck.”

“I think our dice are rigged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths
> 
> "You crazy-assed cosmonaut  
> Remember your virtue,  
> Redemption lies plainly in truth."


	6. Nothing But The Water

Dean listened to the soft scratching noises Castiel was making.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

“Decorating,” Castiel responded just as quietly.

“Can you see in here?”

“Some. I can’t see perfectly, but I can see pretty well.”

“What are you drawing?”

“Bees, currently.”

Dean smiled to himself.

“Here,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s hand and touching it to the etching.

Dean traced around it idly, forming a mental image. He couldn’t see anything. Hadn’t seen anything since the lid had shut, sealing them in forever. Castiel’s hands were rough against his, and Dean vaguely wondered if they would ever grow soft. His fingers were calloused and his palms the same.

“Why didn’t you heal these?” Dean asked, fingers gently pressing against Cas’s palm.

“I… I wanted proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that I was making a difference. I led heavenly armies against hordes of demons, and, no matter how many times we were hit, we never showed a single sign of weariness. I wanted the signs. I wanted proof.”

The box was shallow, as far as boxes go, and Dean only had to spread his fingers wide to brush against Castiel’s face. There was a small scar he knew, just behind his right ear from a specifically hard hit against a wall. He traced it gently, barely able to feel it anymore. “Us being alive is proof, Cas."

There was a long pause. “I know every scar on your body,” Cas whispered. “I rebuilt you.”

“I know.”

“I think they’re beautiful.”

Dean was suddenly aware of their proximity, of his own face heating up. He quickly pressed his fingers back against the etching. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“For what?” Castiel asked, a slight tone of dejection in his voice.

“That you’ll never get to see bees again.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.” Castiel pressed his fingers between Dean’s. “I have these.”

“Do you regret it?” Dean blurted out. “Turning against Heaven?”

“Regret is a human emotion,” Cas said.

Dean snorted. “I can see right through you, Cas.”

A sigh, then, “I wish I could say, confidently, no. But the truth is, there are some days I wonder how things would have been different. I can’t say that it would’ve been better. In fact, I sincerely doubt it would have been. I just…” Castiel took his hand back to run over his own face. “I wish I could see both outcomes. See how things could have gone differently. Maybe if I had turned traitor quicker, we could have avoided some things. Or what if I never had?”

Dean retracted his hand as well. “If you never had, a lot of people would be dead.”

Castiel frowned in the dark. “Michael would’ve had you. Our Michael, the one I grew up with. He would’ve fought Lucifer, and he would have won. There is no doubt to that. Half the planet would have gone up in flames in the battle. But humans… They’re resourceful. That’s what I wonder most. If the world had been destroyed, would it be okay again by now? Would humanity have banded together to create an even better world? Would you and Sam be happily residing in Heaven, instead of-” Castiel cut himself off with a harsh exhale.

“Hey,” Dean said, worry clouding his voice. “This is _not_ your fault, buddy.”

“You can’t say that for sure.”

“Yeah, man, I can. We get dealt shitty hands. It’s just what happens. And look, this probably won’t come out quite like I want it to, but you gotta stop overestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You seriously think that you can make enough shitty decisions _on your own_ to lead to this? No way. If we’re gonna blame people, we’re blaming everyone on this entire shitty planet. But there’s no sense in blaming anyone, anyways. We are officially, entirely _stuck_ here. Fault don’t matter now.”

“So you forgive me?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “There ain’t nothin’ to forgive, but if it makes you feel better, yes.”

There was silence, then a calloused hand met Dean’s cheek. “It is not your fault, either.”

Dean tried to quell the sudden tightness in his chest. “Okay.”

“And though it is not your fault, I also forgive you.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “You sure?”

“I am.”

Dean placed his hand over Castiel’s for a single moment before clearing his throat and looking what direction he thought might be up. “Um, what’s your favorite star?” he asked, changing the subject.

And though he couldn’t _see_ it, Dean could certainly hear the gummy smile in Castiel’s voice as he said, “All of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Nothing But The Water" by Grace Potter & The Nocturnals  
> "I tried my hand at the Bible  
> Tried my hand at prayer  
> But now nothing but the water  
> Is gonna bring my soul to bear"


	7. Cecilia

"Tell me something happy, Cas," Dean said, absently tracing the outline of Sam's face on the lid of the coffin. He hadn't carved it yet. Maybe he should. Before he forg-

Dean winced. "Please," he added softly.

"Hmm," Castiel wondered aloud. "A happy story? Which to choose, I wonder. You've sworn off all talk of Patroclus until an indeterminate date, you already know of all that happened while I was in your company... I know!"

Dean chuckled softly at Castiel's antics, pressing his palm lightly against the ceiling of the box. "Yeah?"

Dean almost didn't even need to see to feel Castiel's blinding smile.

\---

When I was still a fledgling, Gabriel and I used to sneak past Gadreel at the gates of Heaven.

_Wait, Gadreel? Wasn't he guarding the garden of Eden or something?_

This was before Eden. He and a few other angels guarded the gates of Heaven. We never thought to question what could possibly be trying to enter.

Regardless, Gabriel used to hide me between his seven pairs of wings and slide out the gates, me in tow. I'm sure, thinking back, that Gadreel knew. He saw no harm in our antics, though, which is why I assume he let us pass so often.

He was not a bad angel.

Gabriel would wait until we were far enough away from Heaven that it was unlikely anyone would pursue, then he would fly upside-down and let me fall out of his wings.

I should have been terrified. There was nothing beneath me to capture me, only the endless swirling vortex of creation. But I loved it. I would shriek with laughter, and Gabriel would swoop down to catch me.

I was too young to fly for very far or long by myself, so Gabriel would hold my hand as we flew, carrying me when necessary. We would fly out to the edge of the universe.

The universe is ever-expanding, which I suppose is proof that God started creation and then left. The deists, I suppose, were right in that regard. Or perhaps He is out there somewhere, charting new courses.

Anyways, that's where Gabriel and I would go. We would float lazily with the flow of creation, weaving in and out of the beautiful dust clouds.

Dust on Earth is grey, lifeless matter. This was not that. This, these dust clouds, were spectacular. They were many colors and shapes, made out of elements your kind hasn't even discovered yet. They would swirl against our fingertips, cloud our vision with colors. They were the embodiment of potential. They could be anything. Any bit of this could become something extraordinary.

Gabriel would flap his wings once, mightily, and send the clouds cascading in every direction, swirling and creating new forms and shapes. We would name them as we saw them, as nothing was named yet.

I'm not sure how long we would stay out there. Long enough that I was stronger on the return flights, strong enough eventually to take the meandering routes home. We would swing by stars and float through those just beginning to form.

Gabriel liked those the most. He would light up his grace, and the reaction was as beautiful as it was explosive. Though I know it isn't so, it always seemed as if light came from nothing. His eyes would glow bright, and the swirling elements would clap into him, as if sucked in by a vacuum. It was so fast, so intense, that they stopped being elements and started being stars.

Gabriel would fly out of them and grin at me, his hair tousled and face flushed.

It was a rush for him, I think, to pretend he was God. Like a child in his father's shoes and coat. Too big on him, but very cute, nonetheless.

He would scoop me up and fly on his back, me crouched on his chest.

"Name it," he would say to me, flying lazy circles around the newest heavenly body.

I named at least ten thousand 'Gabriel' and another five 'Castiel' before he told me I had to be more unique.

The names I came up with were nonsense, but they made Gabriel laugh and smile, so I continued.

When humans look up at Polaris, I can't help but think, 'No. That is not Polaris. That is Gabriel.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Cecilia and the Satellite" by Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness
> 
> "For all the things my hands have held  
> The best by far is you  
> If I could fly  
> Then I would know  
> What life looks like from up above and down below  
> I'd keep you safe  
> I'd keep you dry  
> Don't be afraid Cecilia  
> I'm the satellite  
> And you're the sky"


	8. The Wind

“How deep are we?”

Castiel leaned his head back, as if he could see through the solid casket surrounding them. “I assume we are near the bottom.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I figured we would’ve been there already.”

“No. The ocean is deep, fathoms deeper than humans seem to think. Ancient things swim these waters.”

“Ancient things?”

“Though humans do imagine many things, quite a few of their so-called sea monsters aren’t imagined.”

Dean swallowed harshly. “Like… Like what?”

Castiel shook his head. “The truth has been amended over the ages, but there is a reason many indigenous tribes believe the world to be carried by an animal. They are bigger than you can imagine, and far more primal and ravenous.”

Dean paled. “Uh, Cas, buddy? You’re not really helping me calm down.”

“Nothing can break this box. Not even ancient, eldritch beings.”

As if on cue, there was a deep sound, something that echoed across Dean’s ribcage and tried to tear his lungs to shreds. “Cas?” Dean asked shakily.

“I promise you. We are safe.”

A deep growl bounced against Dean’s brain and he flinched. “Cas,” Dean pleaded.

There was a calloused hand against his cheek, a soft smile he couldn’t see. “I have told you that I have seen Creation. I have named stars, watched humanity from both afar and up close. Do you not have faith in me?”

Dean let out a breath. “You’re all I have faith in.”

There was silence between them.

“You know,” Castiel began, hand slipping into Dean’s hair, “I rather miss your cassette collection.”

“Sorry bud, but I didn’t bring my Walkman with me.”

“I was hoping you would sing for me.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I can’t sing.”

“Well, that’s not true. Sam said you used to sing for him.”

“Sam doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut,” Dean grumbled.

“Besides, I have heard you singing in the shower plenty of times. You’re not as bad as you pretend to be.”

“Um, I’m sorry, what-”

“I imagine you pretending to be bad at singing has something to do with you feeling like you are unworthy of attention.”

Dean clamped his mouth shut.

Cas gently ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, brushing the tangles out tenderly. “Please?” Cas asked.

Dean looked up, as if he could see Castiel’s hand. “What… What are you doing?”

“Asking you to sing for me.”

“You’re… petting me,” Dean half-accused.

“Is it working?”

“...maybe.”

“Hey Jude.” Castiel’s pinky brushed against the back of Dean’s neck.

“Hey, driver picks the music…” Dean mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that you were piloting this abomination. Please, direct us to the surface.”

“Dick.”

“Those aren’t the lyrics.”

Dean rolled his eyes, well aware of his own face heating up. “Hey, Jude,” he began half-heartedly.

“Oh, come on."

Dean shook his head, eyes scrunched close. “Hey, J-”

_Bang._

“Ju-”

_Bang!_

“Jude-”

_LET. ME. OUT._

“Hey Ju-”

_BANG!_

“Hey, hey, heyheyheyJ-j-j-j-j-j-”

 _BANG. BANG._ **_BANG. ̷̍̆͆͋͝҉̦̙͚͈͉̝B̷̬͉̫̂̏ͥ͐ͨͮ̌͊A̸͇̯͂̂͋N̅͋̅ͣ͆̔ͣͥ҉̳̦̟̞̝Ǵ̼̬̯͉̫̟͓̭͙̓̄̔͋̌͟.̙̭͋̅ͬ͜_ **

“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad,” came a voice not his own. Dean’s head jerked up towards the sound, the gravelly voice of Castiel, angel of the Lord. “Take a sad song and make it better.”

Dean was breathing hard, palms pressed against his eyes. “R-remember,”

“To let her into your heart, then you can start…”

There was a pause, one far too long for the song, before Dean managed, “to make it better.”

And Castiel’s hands were holding his, and Castiel’s forehead was pressed against his own, and Castiel was singing to him. For him. _With_ him.

Dean’s shaking subsided, and he was smiling at the off-key angel, and he sang, “And anytime you feel the pain-”

“Hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders.”

If Dean could’ve seen, he would’ve seen the worried expression of Castiel, the drawn eyebrows, the shaky jaw, the scratch marks down his chest that certainly weren’t there before.

The box hitting the bottom of the ocean did not thud. It did not bounce, or rattle, or even disturb the two men singing old songs together where no human had been before.

It settled without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Chant II" from Hadestown
> 
> "Orpheus,  
> All the pretty songs you sing aren't gonna  
> Shelter us  
> From the wind, the wind, the wind."


	9. Time in a Bottle

"Cas?"

"Hm?" Castiel mumbled, eyebrows drawn together.

"Are you alright?"

Castiel glanced over at Dean, whose eyes were wide with worry. "I'm a bit tired," he admitted.

"Sleep, then. I'll be okay without you for a while."

Cas shook his head. "No, I need to stay awake."

"Castiel."

"Hm?"

"This isn't up for debate."

Cas huffed and looked absently at the bees he had carved.

Dean absorbed the silence for a bit before chuckling softly. "You're not sleeping."

"You can't see."

"Don't need to. Your breathing is too regular. Sam used to try and pull the same shit." Dean gently kicked at Cas's shin. "Why don't I tell you a bedtime story?"

"A bedtime story," Cas deadpanned.

"It used to help Sam. Just... trade roles with me for a bit. I'll tell the story today."

"Tonight."

"What?"

Cas shook his head. "Nevermind. Yes, go ahead. I suppose it can't hurt."

Dean grinned wide at him. "Okay. Close your eyes."

\---

It was Nebraska — wait, no. Oklahoma. It was in Oklahoma, and Sam and I were little kids. Dad was hunting who-knows-what, and we were in town for a couple of months. So we signed up for school.

I always used to sign us up. Did you know that? As long as we were competent, Dad didn't actually care if we went or not. But Sammy always loved school, so I'd sign us up.

Ya know, I always knew that kid had a future. I think I told him congrats when he got accepted to Stanford. I helped him pack his bag, too, I think. I'm not sure. That whole day was a blur. I remember feeling numb, really. And he and Dad fought, and Sam left, and the next thing I remember I was crying in the bathroom.

Ahem. Anyways.

Oklahoma.

Okay so, you gotta understand. Sam was the dorkiest fucking kid you've ever seen. He carried around these big-ass books and he'd actually _read_ them in like, two days. He was a prodigy. I mean that. If we had stayed anywhere longer than a coupla months, he'd have skipped grades.

He was way smarter than me.

I'm not saying I wasn't smart at some things, ya know? I aced shop and eleventh grade English. And _that_  was only because we were studying Vonnegut. But I was always more street smart. Sammy was book smart. Still is. Was. Hopefully is.

Anyways!

So you've got this teensy little book nerd, and all he's missing is the broken, taped-up glasses and suspenders. And he. My brother, Sam. Sammy the nerd. Tries out for soccer.

Not even, not even football! Just soccer, for some godforsaken reason!

Hoo, hold on. Give me a second to stop laughing. I've got this.

Phew.

Okay.

Fuckin' — ha, fucking soccer, okay? And we scour around for some gear, and he's got this jersey that's too big for him and cleats that could kill a man, and I _swear_ this kid comes home with grass stains on his ass.

But for some reason, the nerd loves it. And he sucks like hell at first, duh, but then he starts getting better. And he'll come to the motel after practice and then practice _more_  at this run-down playground across the road.

This kid would practice like his life depended on it, and one day I finally go out there. I cross the road — which, I always made sure to look both ways so Sam would — and I ask him to teach me how to play.

Which, of course, makes _me_ the nerd, too.

But it was fun, and it was something other than hustling and hunting that we could do together.

I fuckin' sucked at it, but it was fun to trash talk Sam as we played. I would do that every night while we were in that area. Come home from school, wait for Sammy, play soccer until supper time. I'd make something — I dunno. Something weird. Sam liked weird foods. Which worked fine, I guess, since there's a limited amount of food you can slide into a jacket pocket.

We found an old kite somewhere, and we tied the strings between trees as little makeshift goals. Sometimes other kids would play with us, but it was mostly just me and him.

I think Sam actually made a goal or two in the few games we got to stick around for.

Anyways, Dad eventually ganked whatever the fuck it was, and we moved on. But the night before we left, I snuck back into the school and stole a soccer ball. Damn, we had that thing for _years_ before it was finally too old to use anymore.

Kinda miss the stupid thing, actually.

Ya know, if I had a genie right now. Like, if the genie from Aladdin showed up right this second and asked me what I wanted? I'd say one last soccer game with Sammy.

Wait no that's dumb. I'd wish Michael was out of my fuckin' head, then I'd wish that we were back on dry land, and _then_ I'd save my last wish and go whoop Sammy's ass at soccer.

Bet he can't even play anymore with those long-ass limbs of his.

I hope he's playing soccer right now. He loved it so much. I wonder if he still does. I never asked him. We never really got to just talk about normal fucking things once Dad died. It was always monster this and apocalypse that.

Hey, can I tell you a secret?

Whatever, you're asleep anyways.

The truth is, a lot of times I let Dad get to me. And I thought that I was worthless, and that nothing I did was any good. But then I'd see Sam. I raised him, ya know? You do know that. I know you do. I'd see Sam, and I'd know I did at least one thing right.

\---

Dean listened in the silence to Castiel's deep, even breathing and smiled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce
> 
> "If I could save time in a bottle  
> The first thing that I'd like to do  
> Is to save every day  
> 'Til eternity passes away  
> Just to spend them with you"


	10. Forgive the Children We Once Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my dudes!  
> I'm sorry I didn't post last week. Tbh I was just super stressed out. But! I just pounded back an apple sour and made a new chapter!
> 
> WARNING  
> This chapter is about a biblical event. It's dark. I mean it. Kids die. Read at your own risk.

"Do you ever feel heavy?"

Cas looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Heavy how?"

Dean shrugged in the darkness. "Like, are there any memories that just kinda weigh on you, ya know?"

Cas frowned a moment before nodding. "Yes. There are a few."

There was silence, then, "I wanna help you carry that weight."

"You... I'm sorry?"

"Cas, buddy, you've been carrying all of my shit since the day you got involved in my mess. I wanna help you back. If you'll let me."

"Dean, I've... I've done some very terrible things. Things I am not proud of. Things you could never forgive me for."

"I'm not capable of holding a grudge for literally ever, buddy."

Cas did not reply, and Dean nudged him gently.

"Would it help to talk? Like, at all? If it wouldn't I'll let it go."

"You know, if we had conversed like this on shore, this situation might not have ever happened."

"Time is a human invention, my friend. Complete construct."

Cas smiled in the water. "Good to know you've been listening. Fine. I will tell you one terrible tale. But please... Have mercy in your judgment."

"I'm not God, Cas. I won't judge you."

"No. You're much more important than God."

\---

I remember how soft the dirt was.

It hurt the soles of my feet. It burned in its gentleness. For I knew why I was there, and the forgiveness of the land itself began to tear apart my resolve.

I took a step towards the town.

It… You have to understand. I thought… I was told I was doing God’s work. I still don’t know if that’s true. I’m not sure that it is, anymore.

I remember the cold. It was cold in Egypt that night. The wind whipped against my face and it _stung._ I was not made to acknowledge pain. I was a soldier, made to withstand the brutalities of demonic war. The wind was not to sway me.

But it carried voices.

I could hear frenzied prayer and desperation. The air was thick with terror. Fear.

They were afraid of _me_.

I tried… Please, you have to believe me when I say I tried to turn back. I flared my wings and began my ascent back to Heaven. I simply couldn’t do it. But then, in my head, there was Naomi, and there was Michael, and they _screamed_ at me and I…

I had to.

How I wish it had not been so.

I traced my hand across the first doorpost, and it was covered in blood. I think I sighed in relief. I thought that maybe — maybe the believers had found pity for their fellow humans. That perhaps I…

Perhaps I would not have to take lives tonight.

I was wrong.

I came to a post without blood and steeled myself. I did what they asked of me.

They told me I was doing the right thing. That the souls I was taking would pave the way for believers everywhere.

But there were — there were _children_ crying in my arms, Dean. People who did nothing wrong. And I took them to Heaven but that doesn’t make it _right,_ it doesn’t make it _okay —_

I remember not being able to go on.

There was darkness around me. There were faces staring at me from behind the bloodied doorways as I knelt in the dust and asked for deliverance.

All I got was the promise that were I not to complete my mission, Naomi would.

So I…

_“Cas?” Dean asked, hand reaching out in the dark._

I…

_“Cas…” Dean wrapped the shaking angel up tight in his arms. “You don’t have to finish if you don’t want to.”_

I completed my mission.

They — They _celebrated,_ Dean! They screamed ‘Hallelujah’ and praised God that they had been spared as the — the lifeless bodies of the firstborns surrounded them. And the nonbelievers screamed and cried, and the Pharaoh was so stricken with grief he let the believers go. I can’t —

I can’t forgive myself for that. For what I did. Innocent people, Dean. They were just…

They were just _kids._

\---

“Hey, hey. Shh, I’m here. It’s okay,” Dean said softly as he tried to pull Castiel away from every bad thought in his head.

“How can you possibly still touch me after knowing this? After knowing what I’ve done?”

Dean was silent a long time, cheek pressed against the flowing hair on Castiel’s head. “Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll tell you what I tell Sammy when he gets this way. You made the best decision you could with the information you had available at the time. You thought it was right, because it was God, and God was supposed to be good. But it wasn’t God, or it was God and it wasn’t good at all. Either way, you couldn’t have known, Castiel. And it would’ve happened one way or another. You did it mercifully. Naomi wouldn’t have.”

“Pesach,” Castiel finally whispered back.

“What?”

“They called it Pesach.” Castiel closed his eyes, letting Dean’s arms ground him. “And, when they grew tired of old words, they made a new one.”

When Castiel did not elaborate, Dean prompted, “What was the new word?”

Castiel shuddered hard. “Passover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Forgive the Children we Once Were" by Delta Rae
> 
> "We waited  
> For love, for dreams in the night  
> For days to come when we'd be all right  
> I can't remember why I did the things I did  
> I was just a kid  
> All the lines we knew back then, they now are faded  
> All the laws we once obeyed, they have betrayed us  
> People that I used to hate, I hardly remember  
> Forgive the children we once were"


	11. Dove and the Waterline

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I really think acting out Tombstone together is unnecessary."

Dean shouldered him. "C'mon! It'll be fun!"

"Fun is relative."

"And since there's nothing else in here to relate it to, Tombstone wins!" Cas was silent, so Dean poked him. "We can even start at the gunfight if you want."

Dean imagined Cas to be sulking.

"C'mon." He switched over to a Southern drawl. "You killed two cowboys."

"This is ridicu-"

And all sound stopped.

"Cas?" Dean asked, feeling out to find him deathly still.

"Dean?"

Dean froze. It couldn't be-

"Dean!"

"Sam?"

"Breaker breaker, come in Dean."

The sound was coming from all around him. It wasn't clear, though. It sounded like it was coming through an old walkie talkie, or like someone was playing an old home movie outside the coffin.

"How the fuck-"

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"Sam I swear to fucking God if you-"

There was a lurch in Dean's stomach, and suddenly he was sitting at a table for two in the middle of nowhere. Literal nowhere. And across the table from him, smiling wide, was Sam.

"Good to see you," Sam said, eyes shining.

"What did you do?!"

Sam gestured around them at the endless darkness. "Welcome to Oblivion."

"You have to send me back, man. Michael-"

"Isn't here. Just us. Just our consciousnesses. We ran every scenario. You and I can't stay long, but... You're safe, Dean. You're safe here."

Dean searched Sam's eyes for something — anything that would reveal that he was lying.

He found nothing.

It was weird, Dean thought. One moment he was sitting in a chair, and the next he was draped over a small table, arms around his brother and face buried in his neck. Sam hugged him back silently, and Dean couldn't tell whose face was wet.

"You got a new cologne," Dean remarked, muffled by Sam's shirt.

"It's been a bit, dude. They stopped making mine."

"I missed you."

Sam shuddered on his exhale. "I missed you, too, Dean."

There was something within Dean that knew he would usually tug away, pretend to not be affected, shine a smile. But Dean didn't want to let go.

Sam laughed softly. "I guess we can have the conversation like this if we need to."

"Good 'cause I'm not movin'."

"I don't have a lot of information yet. This is just a test run to see if it could even work. We're working on a way to get you back and still leave Michael in the box."

"We who?"

Sam shook his head. "We everyone."

"What is this place?"

"Oblivion. It's a sort of... pocket dimension, I guess, that touches our own. You said that nothing gets into the box and nothing gets out. So, well..." Sam trailed off. "Welcome to nothing."

Dean's fingers tightened in Sam's shirt. "You were supposed to go live a normal life. Play soccer or something."

Sam finally pulled back to look at Dean's face. "Soccer? I haven't played soccer since we kicked the shit out of that ball you found."

"Stole, actually."

"Hmm. Tell ya what. You and I can play a game of soccer when I bust you out of here." He thumbed away tears from Dean's cheeks. "How's Cas?"

"Good. He's been telling me about his life. There's so much stuff I wanna tell you, Sammy."

"I know. Me, too. But we don't have long here. I just wanted to make sure you were still okay." Sam's lips twisted up in amusement. "Have you made a move on Cas yet?"

His usual retort died on his lips. "Kinda sorta not really?"

Sam's eyebrows raised. "Wait seriously?"

"I mean we kinda like. Held hands a little? And he played with my hair. I dunno, the whole dynamic is different than I'm used to."

Sam grinned wide at him. "Well at least that box is helping you come to terms with your emotions."

"Yeah yeah shut up."

"Ah, there's my brother." Sam gave Dean a gentle push back into his seat. "You're a lot calmer than I thought you'd be."

Dean nodded. "I mean, yeah. Ya know. This isn't real, Michael tricks, yadda yadda. I've gotten better at figuring them out since the bar incident."

"The-..." Sam furrowed his brow. "Wait, no. Dean, I'm real. This is real."

Dean waved him off. "Joke's on him though because I really... I really needed this. I didn't actually get to say goodbye to you."

Sam sighed. "Believe me or not. It doesn't matter yet. We know this will work now. Or at least, this part will." Sam looked back over his shoulder as if listening to someone before glancing back at Dean. "I've got to go, Dean."

Dean furrowed his brow. "What, so soon? Isn't this supposed to be endless?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah! I got it. This is gonna be a recurring thing, right?"

"I mean, yeah, basically. I'll be back soon. In a few days or so."

Dean's face lit up. "Finally! A way to track time! Well, unless you're just lying about the days, too." He shrugged. "I have no idea how long has passed."

Sam muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Me neither" before standing up. "I'll see you soon, Dean. Oh, wait! Before I go, have you started reenacting old westerns yet? I have a bet to win."

"Just started on Tombstone."

"Nice."

"I love you, Sam."

Sam's smile faltered. "I love you, too, Dean."

\---

"-lous," Castiel finished.

Dean's hands reached out to touch the box lid, eyes glancing around for any trace of a table for two. He found none.

Cas looked at Dean, worry quickly etching his face. "Are you okay? You're crying."

Dean smiled at him tearfully. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"What about?"

Dean shut his eyes. "Do you think Sam's happy?"

"I... I think Sam probably spends most of his free time looking for a way to save you. But I also believe he has found a life for himself."

Dean nodded. "I'm gonna ask something, and I don't want you to answer it. I just wanna ask it, okay?"

"Okay."

"How long have we been here?"

Instead of waiting for the silence, Dean reached out for Castiel's hand, easily intertwining their fingers.

"I miss him," Dean whispered.

"I do, too," Cas whispered back.

"And I'm glad you're here. Don't reply to that."

Cas squeezed his fingers gently.

"Don't reply to this, either," Dean said, heart hammering as he brought their clasped hands to his mouth, lips soft against Castiel's knuckles.

There was silence, and then a soft chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, ears ringing.

"It's just..." Cas began to drawl his words, "That's a mighty soft move, for a man who just killed two cowboys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Dove and the Waterline" by Jeffrey Foucault
> 
> "And I said hello can you help me  
> Do you know  
> What I'm doing can you tell me  
> Where I'm bound  
> The stars all have names  
> And the angels have the same  
> But I'm lost and I so much  
> Wanna be found"


	12. Cancer

"Why bees?" Dean mumbled, fingers tracing the design, elbow resting on Castiel's chest.

"I like them."

"But like, why? Out of all the animals, why are they your favorite?"

"Oh. They're not. Though, I understand the confusion."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I have even more questions."

Cas laughed softly, hand tracing soft patterns on the inside of Dean's elbow. "Jesus is why I like bees."

"And the questions keep coming."

"One at a time."

"What is your favorite animal, then?"

"Deer. Any kind, really. They were the first animal I encountered when I returned to Earth. I landed in the grass, and there was a doe with her fawn, staring at me. They didn't even run, just watched me silently."

"If staring at you was the only requirement, I should think  _I_ was your favorite animal."

Castiel's eyebrows shot up, grin twitching at his lips. "I wasn't aware that you were an option."

"I'm always an option!" There was silence, then Dean awkwardly cleared his throat. "Um, ignore that. Okay, next question: Jesus?"

"That's not really a full question."

"Fine. Jesus Christ?"

"You call him that, yes. Christ isn't really a name though, per se. It means 'anointed one'. And he prefers Josh nowadays."

"Nowadays? He's still just like... out and about?"

"He lives in a forest commune, last I checked."

"Why?"

"From what I heard, he told God that the Plan was a load of, and I quote, 'actual horseshit' and that he would rather live with the humans than spend one more minute under God's guidance."

"Hm. Seems like my kinda guy."

"I think that was sort of the point. Regardless, bees were used to represent him for a long time. They bring me peace."

Dean was quiet, eyes slowly closing against the soft brushing of Castiel's fingertips across his arms.

"Ya know, our lives are so fucked up that that knowledge doesn't even phase me."

"I'm not sure anything could phase us at this point."

Dean dropped his own hand from the lid, falling back to brush gently against Castiel's stubble. "So who was right, all this time?"

"What do you mean?"

"All these people, all worshipping something. Who's right?"

"Everyone. No one. It's very complicated. You've met the god Osiris. Technically, anyone who worships and believes in him is right. But also, anyone who worships and believes in God is right. Or Jesus. Or anyone. At the same time, the only people who were there at Creation are unreliable at best. Perhaps it was a big bang, and then no one is right."

"What do you think?"

"I think I would much rather live forever in a box with you than follow anybody else."

"You saying you'd worship me, Cas?" Dean asked, voice rough with sleep. His fingers trailed across Cas's jaw, down his neck and back up.

"Dean," Cas whispered, warning.

"I'd worship you," he breathed.

Cas desperately wished to reach out, twine fingers in short hair and figure out if Dean's eyes would flutter open, if his lips would part gently in the dark, waiting. "When I," Cas started, voice lower and more gravelly than intended, "When I worshipped God, I fought for him. I defended him and I swore myself to him. I think..." Cas licked his lips, as if they could ever be dry at the bottom of the ocean. "I think I've been worshipping you for years."

Dean could not see in the darkness, and he was tired enough that his emotions played across his face. Cas wondered if he knew how he looked, eyes almost closed, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted, cheeks flushed. A thumb pressed at the corner of Castiel's mouth, and he took a shuddering breath.

Dean smiled lazily. "I swear myself to you, Castiel," he whispered.

The thought crossed Cas's mind. He could lean in and taste those lips that had teased him for ten years.

"I swear myself to you, Dean Winchester. Now get some sleep."

Dean's hand slipped as he fell asleep, coming to rest on Castiel's cheek.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and thought of every reason this couldn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Cancer, originally by My Chemical Romance and covered by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> "All my agony  
> Know that I will never marry  
> Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo  
> I'm counting down the days to go  
> This just ain't livin'  
> And I just hope you know  
> I will not kiss you (kiss you)  
> (Turn away)  
> Lips are chapped and faded"


	13. Everything Stays

"Hey Cas?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think Sam and I would've gone to Heaven? If all this shit had never happened, and we were still living happily in Kansas?"

"You mean if Azazel had never come into the picture, Heaven and Hell hadn't had plans, and you somehow managed to avoid all the hunting that runs in your blood?"

"Something like that."

Cas took a deep breath of water, releasing it in a huff. "I think Bobby Singer would've wound up as your step-dad. Your parents' marriage was rocky, to say the least. I do not doubt that they loved each other but... that love was not their own choice. It was made for them, before they were ever born, by higher powers. So to be fair in this assessment of your moral values or lack thereof, we have to go far back. Very far back. Before the apocalypse plans were even an idea."

"Okay Professor Cas, I didn't know this was going to be an entire discussion on an entirely alternate universe. I mean, if Mom and Dad had never fallen in love, Sam and I wouldn't even exist so the point's kinda null, ain't it?"

"Then I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Just... Do you think Sam and I were good enough on our own to get in? If we were being judged just like everyone else?"

"How do you think everyone else is judged?"

"I... I imagine... I imagine God sits high and mighty on his throne, reigning terror. Or did, once. Haven't seen him in a while."

Cas closed his eyes, wincing.

"Perhaps you know where he is? What he's been doing with all of his shit time? Do you think if I screamed into this void we are stuck in, dear brother, he would hear me? Do you think he would even listen?"

Cas shook his head, sighing. "Dean, you can hear me. I know you can."

"And if he can't? If I've got him shoved so far down in here that he's basically gone?" Michael drawled, staring at Castiel through the dark waters. "What then? You gave up your own eternity to stay with this human in this box. And now it's you and me, instead."

"You're stronger than this."

"But it's easy, isn't it? To just give up? He knows it's coming, eventually. The day he can't hold me back anymore and I burst out of his head. What if I killed you? What if I killed you, and then retreated forever back inside his head?"

Castiel stared at the familiar face before rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't do that."

"And why wouldn't I? Imagine. He wakes up, and your dead, lifeless corpse is here. Decaying. Forever. And he can't escape."

"Dead? Where would I go? I cannot go to the Empty. I cannot go to Heaven, or Hell. We are stuck here, 'brother', until the end of time. You cannot kill me."

"Ah, yes, but... Castiel," Michael tutted, tongue swiping across Dean's bottom lip. "It sure would be fun to try." He grinned.

"Leave me."

"You could end this all, you know," Michael whispered, letting Dean's lips press against Castiel's ear. "He's just a human. Two hands around a throat is all it would take. He's so _weak._ " Dean's hand trailed up Cas's chest, lips moving to his neck. " _You're_  so weak, Castiel. You want this, don't you?" There was a scrape of teeth against his jugular, a press of tongue, a hand trailing down. "You want _him._  Castiel. Cas. Cas!"

Cas snapped awake, breathing hard, lungs seizing at the sensation of water filling them. His hands immediately covered his face, shielding himself. "D-Dean?"

"Did you seriously fall asleep while I was telling you my Star Wars theories? Not cool, man."

Castiel forced his own arms down, eyes wide as he stared at the soft face across from him. "I apologize. I uh... I had a nightmare, I think."

Dean frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "What about?"

'You,' Castiel thought. "Michael," he said aloud.

"I have those sometimes, too. Wanna talk about it?"

And suddenly there was anger in Castiel's heart, a clench in his jaw. "I want to talk about you, Dean, and what exactly you think you've been doing."

"I— what?"

"You keep... You kept following me, time after time, no matter how I messed up. You told me you needed me, you trusted me even as I betrayed you and your brother. You told me you'd _worship me_ , Dean. And I'd get close to you, and you'd push me away. But now we're here, and we're alone, and you're the one getting closer. And closer. So tell me: are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed to be close to me?"

"Cas, I-"

"No. Don't. Don't 'Cas' me. When there are people around, this?" Castiel pushed his palm roughly against Dean's stubble, nails scraping back down. "This isn't okay. But it's okay if no one is around to see? Tell me you're not ashamed of me."

"Cas-"

_"TELL ME!"_

There was silence, long and drawn out, Castiel's fingers tightening across Dean's jaw.

"Take a breath, Cas," Dean whispered.

"I don't need to-"

"Michael's gotten to you. You know I'm not ashamed of you. I introduced you to Bobby, remember? I told him we could trust you. I'm not ashamed."

"Then why?"

"Because I—..." Dean choked, coughing a little, and Castiel was surprised at the shininess of Dean's eyes, even down here. "Because I'm scared, Cas."

"You've been scared before."

"Not like... Not like this. It's always been scared of dying, or of leaving Sam behind, or of _Sam_  dying. Now I'm... I'm scared of _not_  dying. Of what that means. I can hear Michael screaming, all the time, and one day he's gonna get out. And I don't... I don't know what forever is, Cas."

"You really..." Cas swallowed harshly, finding his anger draining. "You really should've thought about that before coming down here."

"I didn't think you'd be with me," he whispered, eyes clenched shut now. "I thought I'd be able to scream about it. And I can't." Dean reached out one shaking hand to Castiel's cheek. "Why did you follow me in here? Why did you sign your own fucking death warrant, huh?" His hands clenched into lazy fists.

'Because I didn't want you to go through this alone.'

'Because I've never been able to resist you.'

"Because I need you," Castiel responded.

Dean shook his head. "You're an idiot."

"That's a distinct possibility."

Dean almost laughed, a soft sound escaping his lips. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not... ashamed of you. And I'm sorry you ever thought that. I should've... I should've done better to let you know how much I appreciate—" Dean cut himself off, wincing. "No. I should've done better to let you know how much I love you. We all should've. You don't ever doubt that, okay? No matter what happens down here. We all love you, Cas. We just... We don't say that a lot. We weren't raised to—" Dean sighed. "We love you. Let's leave it at that."

"That's the most times I've heard you say 'love' that weren't about food."

Dean barked out a laugh, hands sliding off Cas' face. "I'm sorry about that, too."

Cas smiled at him, slipped his hand to the back of Dean's neck, and kissed him.

Dean's lips were soft, unbelievably soft, as they parted against Castiel's.

For so long, Dean had wondered what Castiel tasted like. He had thought honey, or mint, or gunpowder.

But he was wrong.

Tears slipped down his face, unbidden, and he knew.

Castiel tasted like forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo!  
> So I haven't watched the season finale yet but I saw some spoilers and I figured y'all might need this. Plus I just had a rough go of it today and couldn't keep them apart anymore.
> 
> The chapter title is taken from "Everything Stays" by Marceline from Adventure Time (and obviously Rebecca Sugar)
> 
> "Everything stays  
> Right where you left it.  
> Everything stays  
> But it still changes.  
> Ever so slightly,  
> Daily and nightly,  
> In little ways  
> When everything stays"


	14. The Time Warp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes, I know this is a day late. But I was very — shall we say — ABSOLUTELY CONSUMED by a fanfic called The Shoebox Project. It is Harry Potter and it is fantastic, so, if I write a Remus/Sirius oneshot, you know why.

“Charlie, Charlie c’mon—”

“Gimme a minute. It’s hard to lock onto his mental signature.”

Sam sighed heavily and rested his head in his hands, hair falling slowly out of his bun. He was sure Dean would tease him about it. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t taking it down: to see if Dean would acknowledge it.

Man, he must really miss Dean to be angling for soft bullying.

“You know,” Charlie began.

“Save it,” Sam cut her off. “I’m going to save him.”

Charlie sighed somewhere behind him, the soft sound of keyboard keys stopping. “Look, Sam. I know a bit about family, and a lot about loss. Are you sure Dean wouldn’t want you to just… I dunno… move on?”

“Oh, that’s exactly what he’d want. But since when have I ever done that?”

Charlie rolled her eyes at Mr. Man Bun in front of her. “Noted.” She began typing again. “Hey, Jack.”

Sam raised his head to look at Jack, standing in the doorway. “Hey, kid.”

“Hello. I was just checking in to see how things were going over here.”

Sam glanced back at Charlie, who shrugged. “Uh, good, I think. What about your mission? How’s it going?”

“I think I’m almost there. A few more days and I should be successful.”

Sam finally smiled, shoulders relaxing a bit. “That’s great, Jack! That’s really, really great.”

Jack practically beamed at him. “Thank you. It will be nice to have Dean and Castiel back.”

Charlie cleared her throat. “We’re online, Sam.”

Jack nodded at the two of them. “I’ll go now. Goodbye, Dad.”

Sam froze as Jack left, seemingly unaware of what he had just said. “Did he just—”

“Congrats! It’s a boy,” Charlie exclaimed, firing up the machine. “You can go play catch later. We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”

“He called me Dad…”

“I think there’s a copy of _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ around here somewhere.”

Sam snorted, laying his palms flat on the table. “You’ve really lightened up since you got here.”

“It’s all the kale.”

“Hey, if _you_ want to go grocery shopping for an army…”

“I’m good. You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“You know the drill.”

“What numbers are we between?”

“Eh…” Charlie punched a few keys. “Hopefully this is right after your first visit. But it may be somewhere around the fourth. It’s really hard to tell. His mental signature only lines up sometimes, and time works differently in infinite contexts.”

“So still no clue how long it’s been for him?”

“I wish. Fucking time travel, dimension travel. So much bullshit here.”

“I can drink to that.” Sam cleared his throat. “Initiating countdown?”

Charlie flipped some switches. “Ten seconds. Beaming you up, Scottie.”

Sam took a deep breath in and out, closing his eyes.

“Five seconds.”

His fingers twitched.

“Liftoff.”

Sam’s entire world swirled.

\---

“Cupcake phase!”

Castiel laughed, fingers tracing Dean’s face. “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is! The cupcake phase! Where every couple is all cuddly and lovey-dovey and shit. The beginning of almost any relationship.”

Castiel chuckled softly to himself, brushing Dean’s hair back. “So you think we’re in this so-called ‘cupcake phase’?”

“Oh, baby. I know it.” Dean thumbed Castiel’s bottom lip gently, letting his fingers caress his jaw.

“Based solely on our track record, I feel as though any ‘cupcake phase’ of ours would involve more blood than this.”

Dean held up his palm. “We could make a blood pact,” he deadpanned.

“And leave our mixed blood to float around this coffin with us indefinitely? I don’t think so.”

“I mean, it would float out eventually, right?”

“It depends on how close we are to a deep sea gorge. I only detect a very slight current at the moment. It would take a long time for any bodily fluids to evacuate this area.”

“Bodily fluids like-”

“Don’t say it, please.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Icing.”

Castiel hid his grin in the darkness of the water. “You’re impossible,” he told Dean.

“I can hear the smile in your voice, Cas. You ain’t slick. Even underwater. Not even a bit slippery.”

“Of course not, because water is not wet.”

Dean groaned. “Oh my god Castiel we are _not_ having this discussion again. Water is wet. It is the literal _embodiment_ of wetness.”

“No, water _makes things_ wet.”

“Do I make you wet, Castiel?” Dean teased.

There was no answer, only an awkward cough behind him.

Dean turned around to see Sam, sitting at that damned table again. “So…” Sam started.

“Don’t.”

“You and Cas, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. Get that smirk off your face. You knew it was coming.”

“Happy for you two,” Sam said, grinning wide. “I mean, if you had kept your head up your ass for any longer I’d have had to call the hospital.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk. You gonna sit down or…?”

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, pulling out a chair and sitting in it backwards. “What do you want, Michael?”

“Not Michael. I’m Sam. Say it with me. Saaaaaaaam.”

“This really won’t get anywhere. I don’t know why you’re trying to torture me with this, but it won’t work.”

“Torture you? Don’t you wanna see me?”

“I wanna see _Sam._ Say it with me. Saaaaaaaam.”

Sam sighed. “Look. If I could convince you I’m not Michael, I would. But I know you. Anything convincing I could say, you’d just claim I was Michael reading your mind and tricking you. Admit it. There’s no way for me to prove I’m real.”

“Solid point there.”

“ _But,_ ” Sam continued, “that means there’s _also_ no way for you to prove I’m _not_ real.”

“I mean, I’m in a box at the bottom of the ocean. That seems to rule out Sammy as actually being here.”

Sam huffed and barrelled on. “Charlie and I found a way to talk to you, okay? It took a lot of research and digging, but we did it. Now we’re working on using this as a way to extract you. And, of course, Cas. But he’s easier. He’s just wavelengths. You’ve got the added problem of a body.”

“Bones and fleshy bits, that’s me. Human to the core.”

Sam looked off to the side. He could see the void and the faint outline of the room his body was in. Like holding an image in front of one eye while the other looks at something else. “Jack called me Dad today,” Sam blurted unexpectedly.

Dean blinked in surprise. “I… Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to handle that. I’m not… I’m not a dad. I’ve never raised anyone. I’m not you, I guess, is what I’m trying to say.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, looking down at his hands. “The first time you—... The first time _Sam_ ever called me Dad, it was actually his very first word. Our dad wasn’t home, and little baby Sammy looked at me and said like, ‘dada’ or some shit. And I spent the rest of the day trying to get him to look at a picture of our real dad and say the same, but he wouldn’t. Dad didn’t seem too fond of that.”

Sam examined Dean, with his wet hair and torn clothes. “I didn’t know that.”

Dean lifted his head and squinted at Sam. “You’re ah… You’re really good at being Sam.”

“I am Sam.”

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Just… Look. I’m not saying I believe you. But like… if I… if I _were_ to believe you, you’d have to tell me how long I’ve been down here.”

Sam’s face contorted in pain. “I don’t know.”

“How can you _not know?_ You’re literally talking to me from somewhere on dry land!”

“Yes, but… It’s complicated, okay? I don’t even know how many times we’ve talked before this. It’s so jumpy and confusing. We’re making all _kinds_ of advances in science and it’s all so new and I _just don’t know,_  okay?”

Dean shook his head. “It is the only way I’m going to believe that you’re Sam. How long? C’mon. Even a close guess.”

Sam sank his head into his hands. “I really, really don’t know, Dean. If I did, I’d tell you. I’d tell you in a heartbeat.”

Dean regarded Sam suspiciously.

“I…” Sam sighed. “The more I visit you, the more stable your signature gets. We can lock onto it easier the more we try. But time isn’t… It’s not _linear,_  or at least it’s not behaving that way. Sometimes I visit you and we’ve already talked six times. Sometimes, like today, I think, we’ve only talked once.” He glanced up. “Is that right? This is my second visit?”

“Yeah.”

Sam made some gesture with his hand. “Yeah. Second visit.”

“How many visits does it take me to trust you?”

Sam gave him a wry smile. “I’ll tell you when that happens.”

Dean glanced off into the void, thinking. “I could talk to Castiel about time, if it helps.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, it does. Um, will. Do that.” He rolled his eyes at Dean’s arched eyebrow. “Look, I know what he’s gonna say, because you’ve already told me. In the future. It’s—” Sam’s head thudded against the table. “It’s confusing. It’s chaos. But I’ve gotta try and keep the same timeline going or else this all ends badly. I think. We think.” Sam groaned in frustration. “Really, the more I try and explain it, the less it makes sense. We’ve got a team, okay? That’s what matters.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can hear your disbelief.”

“You sound like a crazy person.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything I should know about my future self? Selves?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.”

“What rules? You’re making the rules.”

Sam grinned at Dean. “Well, it’s against _my_ rules, then.”

Dean regarded Sam for a while. “I think I believe you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re getting there, anyway.”

Sam glanced behind himself, then looked back at Dean. “Charlie is calling time. If I stay here too long, things start to get um… weird. We had a dodo in the Bunker last time.”

“Did you keep it?”

“Jack decided he wanted to. As long as it stays away from other, potentially fertile birds, it should be okay.”

Dean snorted, leaning back in his seat. “I hope you all get dodo chickens.”

Sam winced. “Please no.”

“See ya around, Sammy.”

Sam looked at Dean, smiling, shoulders relaxing. “See ya around, Dean.”

\---

Dean’s entire body tensed as water rushed back into his lungs and he desperately tried not to convulse.

“Have I won? Do you concede that water is not wet?” Castiel teased.

Dean held still for as long as he could before letting his watery breath out. “Not in your lifetime.” He waited for his fingers to stop shaking before splaying them across Castiel’s chest. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, cupcake?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a smile. “What can you tell me about time?”

\---

Sam blinked away the void, taking his palms off the now-hot table. “Was I gone too long?” he asked, turning to Charlie.

“Almost,” she said. “But that’s not why I called you back.”

“Oh yeah?”

She motioned towards the doorway. Sam turned to look at Jack, all smiles and sweat.

“I did it,” Jack said, breathing hard. “I found it.”

Sam stood up much too quickly, grabbing onto the table to quell the dizziness. “Well then. Let’s move on to phase two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "The Time Warp" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> "I remember doing the Time Warp  
> Drinking those moments when  
> The blackness would hit me  
> And a void would be calling"


	15. Walk Away

“Time is a human construct; we have already discussed this,” Castiel said, noting the quivering in Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, but I kinda feel like you’re holding out on me, man.”

Castiel traced Dean’s fingers with his own. “And I kind of feel that you’re _withholding_ something from me.”

Dean sighed and winced at the feeling. “How long have you known me this well?”

Castiel raised an unimpressed eyebrow that Dean couldn’t see. “I rebuilt you, Dean.”

“Fair.”

Cas waited patiently, slowly intertwining their fingers. “May I ask what it is that is distressing you?”

“Can… Can you tell me about time first? Because if it all doesn’t line up, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Time doesn’t exist.”

Dean looked over at Cas. "Like… at all?”

Castiel looked at the constellations Dean had carved in the coffin lid. “Humans call it time. Your perception is so small. You think it moves in one direction, and you think it controls everything, that it wilts and decays you. It does not. What you call time is actually more accurately called _Chai.”_

“Hi?”

“No, _Chai._ It’s more — It’s gutteral. _Chhhhai.”_

“Hki.”

“It’s Hebrew, Dean. Give it some oomph.”

“Wh— How many languages do you know?”

“All of them. Which you would know if you had spent more time listening to me and less time staring at my lips.”

“Hey!”

Castiel chuckled softly, hooking his foot around Dean’s. “I’m mostly kidding. Regardless of what God might say, I do not believe he created _Chai._ It is intrinsic to the universe. It ebbs and flows like water, not in any one direction but in all at once. It was likely here before any sort of extant life existed.”

“Okay, so this… this _Chai_ is what we call time?”

“Yes and no. There’s more to it, but even human souls can sense its pull. You eventually named what you could sense ‘time’.”

“How does it work?”

Castiel paused for a bit, rubbing slow circles on Dean’s hand. “I think the best way to describe it would be a river, for humans. It pulls you one direction and you follow it, unless something stops you. It is affected by the physical realm, as well. _Chai_ flows faster in outer space.” He regarded Dean thoughtfully. "Is this a ploy to get me to reveal how long we have been here?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but instead buried his face in Castiel's neck. "Of course not."

"Mmhm. Very likely story."

He should tell Cas. He should tell him. He should tell him right now.

“Tell me a story?” Dean asked quietly instead.

Castiel leaned down to nip playfully at Dean's ear, smiling. “Once upon a time, when Olympus stood high above the earth, there was a war.”

“Olympus?”

“Yes.” Castiel kissed Dean's jaw. “I’m going to tell you of Patroclus.”

"Cas," Dean murmured, pulling away, "I don't really wanna talk about your exes."

Castiel swung a leg over Dean, easily pulling himself over him. "Then just _listen."_ He made note of the few inches he had above them before resting himself fully on Dean. "There were gods, and there were men. Among the former is where most put me. Among the latter was Patroclus."

Dean pressed his hands hard against the metal under him, heart thudding.

Castiel crossed his arms across Dean's chest, resting his head on them. "He was a plain man, impossible to pick out in a crowd. But he was loyal and kind in a time where I was just learning what those words meant." He glanced down at Dean. "Are you okay?"

"Mmhm," came the muffled reply.

"It's like I'm laying on Bobby's couch."

Dean breathed out a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

"Relax, Dean. I expect nothing of you."

Slowly, Dean's muscles unwound, his hands coming up to ghost against Castiel's waist, body melting against Cas's. "Okay."

Castiel kissed Dean's collarbone softly. "Where were we?"

"Olympus," Dean whispered.

"Ah, yes. Olympus."

\---

Patroclus followed me up Mount Pelion when we were young, he in human years and I in angel. He stuck close to my side, jumping into the underbrush to pick a fig or a date, returning with a large smile and sticky hands.

"Achilles, Achilles," he would say, "how can your human half not crave food?"

"I'm not human," I'd tell him.

And he would throw a fig skin at me, laughing. "You definitely aren't a god, either."

And I would want to tell him who I was, why I was there, but my mission was sworn to secrecy. So I would smile back, and say, "I'm far more god than you."

"Ah yes," he'd respond, "because you live off ambrosia and nectar and often have bastard children with us mortals." And Patroclus would bat his eyelashes at me, and tease, "Are you going to have bastard children with me, Achilles?"

\---

"Castiel," Dean scolded, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Yes?"

"Is this… Is this _smut_ I detect?"

"Do you… want it to be?"

"Do you even know how to talk dirty?"

"Of course."

Dean snorted. "I don't believe that for a second."

"Your… member arouses me."

There was silence, and then Dean was laughing so hard he was crying, clutching at his sides. "My— My _member?_ Cas, what the fuck!" he choked out through his hysterics.

"I take it that was not good?"

Dean's laughter subsided into the occasional giggle. "Nah, babe. You've gotta use slang words. All formal like that is just kinda weird. Like you learned pillow talk from a bad fanfiction."

"Slang," Cas repeated slowly.

"Slang," Dean agreed.

Castiel pursed his lips in thought, translating his sentence. "So, your dick turns me on?"

Dean's cheeks turned slightly pink. "There, yeah. Way better. But it's also about the delivery. If you just state it like a fact it ain't as powerful."

"So, slang words, moaned wantonly?"

"Yeah, see? Not so hard."

Cas nodded to himself before suddenly leaning up to Dean's ear, biting at the jaw just under. Dean's head thumped back, hands coming up to clutch at Cas's coat, lips parting in shock. Cas pressed his lips against Dean's ear and growled, factually, "Your member arouses me."

Dean made some noise in the back of his throat as his legs bent, thighs framing Castiel. "Fine, fine. I was— I was wrong. Jackass."

"See? Not so hard," Castiel teased.

"Not so sure about that…"

Castiel rested his head on Dean's shoulder, examining their new position.

"You were—" Dean cleared his throat, "You were talking about Patroclus."

"Oh, so _now_ you want to hear about him?"

"Considering that um, _icing_ would stay here indefinitely, yeah. Yeah, I do."

Castiel laughed quietly, smoothing out Dean's shirt where it had been rucked up. "Where was I?"

"Man I don't fucking know," Dean whined. "You got me all distracted with your lips 'n' shit."

"What? These lips?" Cas asked, pressing soft kisses to Dean's neck.

"You're being a dick on purpose, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Cas whispered against his skin.

"What did I ever do to you?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Would you like a list, or…?"

"Very funny. You know what I meant."

Cas rucked Dean's shirt back up. "You're trying to distract me with talk of Patroclus. Why?"

"Oh wait, are we… Are you gonna sexy interrogate me?"

"Are you going to talk?"

"Are you gonna finish that story?"

"Are you going to stop responding with questions?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess."

He could feel Castiel's grin against his throat. "Then I guess, as well."

"To the interrogation or—"

"Patroclus was—"

"— oh okay the story—"

"— my closest friend."

\---

I wasn't meant to make friends. I was to go down and help win the war.

It did not go that way.

Patroclus drew close to me, and I to him. We shared everything between ourselves, late at night when the rest of the world lay asleep. He would climb into my bed and whisper stories to me, stories I had never heard before. I did not know what love was, at the time, but I believe I loved Patroclus.

He was the first human to ever kiss me.

I remember it vividly. His lips tasted like metal and sweat, with the taste of ripe dates lingering on his tongue. It felt like worship, kissing him. Kissing you. It all feels like worship.

We had many good years, training with an old soul named Chiron on the mountain. We were sent to learn human combat techniques.

We studied medicine.

Those days were glorious. We laid in the hot sun, splashed naked in the spring water. I found a love for the earth that Naomi had attempted to train out of me. Later on, under the blushing sky, I found a love for humanity, as well.

You wouldn't have recognized me, you know. I was a teenager, all blonde hair and energetic legs. I ran everywhere, often towing Patroclus with me. We were young. We were in love. We had escaped the throes of our lives, to live as healers atop Mount Pelion forever.

But, as all good things must, it ended. Heaven's army, disguised as soldiers, came to drag us onto the battlefield.

I hated it, Dean. I hated it so. I hated it with the fierceness only someone who has just discovered hate can have.

I fought and I fought, and Patroclus stayed at camp to help with the wounded. He was a good healer. He was the best of the men there.

I would see his eyes, desperate for my return, and wish I could shake off my mantle as angel of God. That I could step out of my vessel and stand before him, that I could be human.

I laid down my spear.

The battle began to shift. The humans couldn't keep up without God on their side. Patroclus and I stayed in our tent, talking in hushed tones and tasting each other's skin, as death and destruction reigned around us.

He begged me to return to fight, after some time. I couldn't tell him that I was choosing him, that Heaven had stakes in this and I did not want them to win.

I went to gather figs one morning, and he was gone.

I discovered later that he had stolen my armor and charged into battle as me. He made a good impersonator, doubtless. Many turned and ran before he ever had to throw a spear. But his helmet fell off, and all knew he was not me.

And, as all good things, Patroclus came to an end.

A giant by the name of Hector killed him, took my own spear and shoved it through his heart and out the other side.

I don't remember much of the rest of that day. Odysseus brought him back to me, and I screamed. The earth trembled, and Naomi laughed.

I… I held on to his body for so long. I prayed and prayed, that they would bring this human back, that they would allow me this one thing after they had taken so much from me.

It wasn't long until Heaven sent someone to replace me. I imagine they got tired of watching me drag Hector's corpse around the camp.

Patroclus got stuck somewhere in the Veil. I would see him, sometimes, and I would talk to him, and beg him not to go. He promised he wouldn't, and he'd fade, and he'd fade. He grew less happy. His smiles were rare.

I would've given anything to see his face covered in fig again, to see his eyes light up with life.

It took me far, far too long to realize that I was dooming him by keeping him tied to Earth.

I told him goodbye, held my hands against the mist of his face one last time, and returned to Heaven.

I felt it in my heart when he moved on, as well.

It… hurt, to let go. But I was trapping him, forcing him into an afterlife of trying to be there for me. He didn't deserve that. He deserved to be happy, to let his soul go onward.

Naomi, of course, erased most of this from my memories.

\---

Castiel shook his head. "This last time I died and returned, I could remember everything. And of all the things I remembered, Patroclus was the brightest."

Dean buried his hands in Castiel's hair. "So you think it was for the best? To let him move on?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

"Oh."

Castiel began to tell him of other experiences, but Dean wasn't listening.

Dean was thinking of Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Walk Away" by Ben Harper
> 
> "And it hurts me to look into the mirror at myself  
> And it hurts even more to have to be with somebody else  
> And it's so hard to do and so easy to say  
> But sometimes, sometimes you just have to walk away"


	16. The Diary of Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo shout-out to  Emi_theSassiestSousa for being amazing and teaching me how to do em-dashes instead of double hyphens. She da best, go read her stuff!

"Talk to me."

Charlie frowned, handing Sam a cup of coffee. "Well for one your coffee pot sucks."

"One of many casualties that happen living here."

"Just get a new one. Yours is somehow making fizzy coffee."

"Yeah I know it's just..." Sam waved his hands. "It's cursed, I guess. Anyways, is everything ready for this next attempt?"

"Yep. You know what to say this time around?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We talk about time. He'll keep trying to tell me I should move on but I'll keep interrupting him, and he asks if you've seen that Endgame movie that was supposed to come out."

"To which you say...?"

"No."

Charlie finally smiled a bit, taking Dean's usual chair in the kitchen. "Just so you know, I got invited to go see that. I told them I couldn't so we'd stay in the same timeline."

Sam gave her a sad smile back. "I'm sorry you've had to put your life on hold for this. I know you didn't know him as well as our Charlie did."

Charlie made a thinking noise, taking a sip of her bubbling coffee. "I think I would've liked your Charlie. She sounds like a nice person."

"You would've. She was our little sister. She was so dorky, too. When the review copies of Cursed Child came out, she and Dean waited in line for eight hours, dressed up as Charlie and Ginny." Sam paused, then chuckled to himself. "Um, Dean was Charlie Weasley, I mean. Dragons and all. I'm sure it got confusing. Ugh, and when they announced that new Star Wars movie..."

Charlie choked on her coffee. "I'm sorry, the new what now?"

"Star Wars. They made a few new ones."

Sam and Charlie stared at each other before Charlie finally pointed a finger at him. "We're marathoning those. Tonight."

"Okay," Sam laughed. "I'm sorry; sometimes I forget how long you've been gone from this timeline."

Charlie shook her head, grinning. "Next you're gonna tell me I can marry a woman now."

Sam was quiet, staring at his coffee for a long time. "I... I have a video for you to watch."

\---

"What are you thinking about?" Cas asked softly, eyes closed.

Michael. Sam. The damn pounding in my head. You. But mostly, "Charlie."

Cas opened one eye. "That seems out of the blue."

"Well, so are we."

"We're in the blue, really." Cas turned on his side, facing Dean. "What are you thinking about her?"

"Just that... I miss her, ya know?"

Cas nodded, thinking. "I would have liked to know her better."

"She was amazing. I never had a little sister before — unless you count Samantha, of course. It uh… It broke me when she died. I let the Mark overcome me after that."

"I remember. You tried to stab me."

"No I didn't! I just… stabbed beside your head." Dean fidgeted. "Hey, why did you let me win that fight anyway? Big bad angel and all."

Cas shrugged. "Sometimes I let people win fights. It was a tactic instilled in me from a young age. If you let people think you are, in fact, beatable, then they're more likely to underestimate you."

"Does it work?"

"Every time." Cas pressed his hand to Dean's cheek. "What made Charlie so amazing?"

"Oh, she was so cool. Well, actually she was a total nerd, but that's what made her cool. She was so great with tech, and she'd marathon those shitty sci-fi movies with me, and we even LARPed together once."

"Should I be… jealous?"

Dean laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. "Ah, no. No. It means live-action roleplay. We dressed up and fought like a fantasy movie. Besides, she wasn't really into guys."

Cas chuckled softly. "I know what LARPing is, Dean. I was joking."

"We should LARP sometime, then. It's  _ so _ much fun. Anyway, she was the first person I ever told I was bi to, and she hugged me and said we should go to a bar and get me laid. I told her I was in love with you."

Cas smiled fondly, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's lips. "Is that why she called me dreamy?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah. She was always looking out for other people like that. She was smart and kind and brave. The world was lesser when she left it." He pressed soft kisses to Castiel's face. "Ya know, when I was young, I had a really skewed view of family. I thought it was me and Sam and Dad, and that's it. But time went on, and we added so many new members. We have such a big family now, Cas."

"We do. You, me, Sam, Jack, Charlie, Bobby—"

"—Gabriel, Claire, Mom, Garth, Eileen… I could go on for a long time. We lost a few along the way but… we had one damn good family."

Cas laughed softly.

"What?" Dean asked, combing his fingers through Castiel's hair.

"It's just… I believe this is what humans experience, when they grow old. They look back on the family they built."

"You sayin' we're grandparents, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged. "Maybe."

Dean squinted suspiciously. "So we've been down here long enough that it's plausible one of our kids had a baby."

"Claire was twenty-two when we left. It's not a wild conjecture that we might be grandparents."

Dean grinned, eyes bright. "Yeah but we're not talking about Claire. We're talking about  _ Jack. _ We have to be! And  _ that _ kid is like, two, really. Sam definitely wouldn't let him have a kid for at  _ least _ …" Dean paused a moment, "sixteen years. Probably longer, but who knows what teenage Jack is gonna be like. So we've been here at  _ least _ sixteen years!"

"I— Wait, before we go into why that isn't likely, why can't we be talking about Claire?"

Dean shut his mouth. "Um…"

Cas waited patiently.

"Well… ya see I can't… I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"You're… keeping secrets from me?"

"No! Well, I mean—"  _ Tell him about Sam.  _ "Claire just told me she'd tell you when the time was right."

Cas rapped on the coffin lid with his knuckles. "Ah, yes. Because that's likely now."

Dean struggled with his internal debate. On the one hand, it was totally Claire's decision whether she told Cas about Kaia or not. On the other hand… She couldn't tell Cas about Kaia anymore.

Maybe he should have Sam ask her.

"Look," Dean began, cringing at himself, "tell ya what. When it's likely that enough time has passed that she's… well. I'll tell you then."

"Very well."

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Are you mad at me?"

Cas sighed. "Of course not." He ran his fingertips across Dean's freckles. "I just can't help but wish we could see our family again."

"Yeah." Dean leaned forward, taking a few tries to slot his lips against Castiel's. "But we've got each other. We gotta remember that."

"Of course." Castiel's lips were soft, his kiss dizzying and addicting. "We have each other."

Dean's tongue grazed Castiel's lips. "Forever."

"Forever," Castiel agreed, his lips brushing back from Dean's before he dove in again.

Dean didn't get light-headed. He didn't need air anymore. His hands gently pressed against Castiel's sides, his kisses sliding off towards Castiel's neck.

His head pounded as he pressed his tongue roughly against Cas's throat. "Are we married?" he whispered against Castiel's skin, voice low and rumbly.

"Not… traditionally," Cas responded, hands slowly memorizing every inch he could reach.

Dean winced at the splitting pain that roared across his mind. "So we kinda are?"

"We swore ourselves to each other. That is, truthfully, all that marriage is."

Dean's hands tangled in Castiel's hair, his lips faltering against his jaw. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I wanna—" Dean cut himself off with a harsh wince, not entirely convinced his skull wasn't cracking.

"Dean?" Castiel began tilting Dean's head up, inspecting it. "Are you—"

"I… I wanna sell you my soul."

Castiel became deathly still. "What?" he finally whispered.

"He's trying to… Michael is trying to get out and—" Dean clenched his jaw, fingers tightening harshly in Castiel's hair. "If you have… If you own my soul you're… I want you in control."

"Dean, I can't—"

"You're my h-usband," Dean said, voice hitching in the middle. "Right? You're my — I trust you and — Right? If you own me then Michael can't —"

"I… I'd likely be able to drag you back but Dean, I won't —"

And Dean's lips were against Castiel's, his face fevered and lips shaking. "I give you my soul," he murmured against Castiel's lips. "I give you my entire being. I give it freely, I —" Dean made a noise of pain, tightening his hold on Castiel. "I love you. I know you'll… you'll give it back if I ask but I won't — I just —" Dean let out a panicked whimper. "I'm scared, I can't — Cas please I — I give you my soul."

Castiel let out a shaky breath before surging up to kiss Dean, light briefly filling the coffin. Dean studied his face frantically, committing every detail to memory.

"I accept," Cas whispered painfully.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered back before everything went dark.

\---

Charlie snorted and threw popcorn at Sam, watching the credits roll.

"Oh, c'mon. Kylo with his shirt off was a meme for  _ forever. _ It's funny."

Charlie laughed. "Leave the poor boy alone."

"I'm just telling you how it is," Sam responded, shrugging. He winced. "Ugh, do you have any ibuprofen in here?"

"Top drawer. Is your sexuality crisis giving you a headache?" she teased.

"Something is." He got up to grab the medicine, steps faltering and falling down, one hand on his head. "What—"

"Sam?" a voice that wasn't Charlie's said.

Sam looked around at an empty, black dimension, a table and two chairs off in the distance. A hand was on his back, the other pulling him to his feet.

"Sammy, are you okay?"

"Dean?" he asked dizzily, staggering slightly. "What…?"

"How are we here?  _ Why _ are we here? Wait, was that headache you? Dude, you freaked me the fuck out."

Sam blinked, trying to parse out the available information. "I didn't do this." He finally looked up to Dean, shocked to find the shaking body and tear-streaked face.

"You think Michael did?" Dean asked, voice trembling.

Sam shook his head, leaning heavily on Dean. "There are literally an infinite number of pocket dimensions and we warded this one. It's impossible for him to know where it is."

"Then how—"

"You, me, and Charlie are the only ones who know how to get here, and it wasn't me or Charlie. I think you did this."

Dean balked at that, taking a step back and causing Sam to stumble. "There's no way."

Sam finally regained his footing. "Part of your mind is linked to this place. It's possible you sort of…  _ tripped _ into this dimension. It happens quite frequently, actually, but most people don't notice. Sometimes the only difference is an outlet out of place or a building two feet to the left. Sometimes it's more major, like this."

Dean stumbled back, landing on his ass. "That's not possible."

Sam sat beside him, squinting out into the void. He couldn't see the room he had left behind. "Sure it is. It's actually usually called the Mandela Effect."

Dean wiped his own face off harshly. "Like Nelson Mandela?"

"Exactly like Nelson Mandela. It was named for him, actually, because a lot of people agreed he had died back in prison."

"Huh."

"Ah, the one you may know better is that Forrest Gump quote about chocolates."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Life is like a box of chocolates?"

"Actually, in our timeline, it's 'Life  _ was _ like a box of chocolates.'"

"No, that's not right."

"I'll bring the movie next time and you can watch that bit. Um, Curious George never had a tail, too."

"Now you're fucking with me."

Sam grinned. "I promise. It's likely we switched timelines somewhere along the road."

"If we're switching timelines like hopscotch, then how do you plan on making sure you and I stay consistent?"

"Honestly, I'm just hoping it doesn't happen again before we get you out."

"And this doesn't fuck with it?" Dean asked, gesturing to the void.

"Um, no. No, I already knew this would happen. The second time I attempted all this hasn't happened for you yet. So I had you tell me everything we do in  _ your _ past so I could keep everything right."

"You're honestly making my headache worse."

Sam laughed. "Look. Think of it as, I'm skipping stones on the water, but reality glitches and the last skips happen before the first. But you're the rock, and you can't tell anything is glitching."

"Cas used a water metaphor, too."

"I know." Sam shouldered Dean lightly. "Wanna talk about what just happened with Michael?"

Dean winced. "Absolutely not."

"You're scared," Sam noted quietly.

"Of course I am! At any given moment, I could be shoved into my own mind and Michael could torture Cas for all eternity."

"That's why we're helping you. We'll get you two out of there."

Dean sighed, head hanging low. "Sam, look. You and Charlie need to stop—"

"Listen, we're getting pretty good at this. You're gonna have to  _ trust _ me on that, because the next time you see me, I'll be very confused. I won't remember this or our last meeting, because they won't have happened yet."

"But, Sammy, I—"

"Tell me what Cas said about time."

Dean squinted at Sam. "But you already know."

"It's all in the spirit of keeping things in line, Dean."

"Cas said… Cas said time doesn't flow in a specific direction. That it's kinda like a river for humans, though, since we only travel one way. And that it was called  _ Chai." _

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We're learning how to navigate that river. It's just… very jumpy and hard to understand." His vision suddenly split, like a 3D image without glasses. "Ah, there's the room."

"What?"

"I think we're flowing back into our dimension now."

"Wait!" Dean called out, grabbing Sam's arm. "Ask Claire if I can tell Cas that secret she told me."

"I already did. She said yes."

"Okay. Um, ask… ask Charlie if she's seen Endgame yet."

Sam chuckled. "She hasn't."

"You're always gonna be one step ahead of me, aren't you?"

"When have I ever not been?" Sam teased, mussing up Dean's hair. "Hey, listen. You're stronger than Michael. You've been to hell and back, literally. I don't know what happens when I leave here, but I do know you've got this. Make Michael your bitch."

Dean half-laughed. "I wish you were really here."

"I am. Pretty much." Sam elbowed him. "Our consciousnesses are here, and that's about as real as it gets."

"When I get out, I'm going to sleep in your bed like we did when we were kids. Make sure you're really there."

Sam snorted, head ducked and shoulders shaking. "I see you're picking up Castiel's lack of social skills."

"I love him, so that's a compliment."

Sam regarded Dean thoughtfully, eyes twinkling. "Now."

"What?"

"I said I'd tell you when you finally believed it was really me. And you do. So now."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Get out of here, Samantha."

Sam grinned. "You can't insult me if I know it's coming."

"So no more surprising you ever, huh?"

"Nope."

"So I could tell you I had sex with Crowley—"

"—and I'd say I already knew. Really, be a bit more creative. I knew that  _ ages _ ago."

"I still see fairies from time to time."

"Yawn. Try again."

"I sold my soul to Castiel."

Sam's eyes widened. "Wait, you WHA—"

\---

Sam woke up with Charlie hovering over him.

"Sam?" she asked, worry clouding her face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm back."

"What just  _ happened?" _

"Dean dragged us into the void dimension."

"The pocket one? How? Wha— Why?"

Sam sat up slowly, glancing around the room. "I have no idea. I fed him something about the Mandela Effect which… I mean, it's plausible but…" He shook his head, standing up. "Only two of us switching dimensions is weird, instead of everyone. And to that specific dimension, too... But um… we have another problem."

Charlie opened her mouth to ask what it was, but Sam grabbed her hand and sped towards the lab.

"See if we can find his signature," he commanded.

Charlie began typing frantically on the keyboard, small buzzing noises emitting from the speakers. "Oh god."

"How bad?"

"We…" She shook her head. "We only have the four moments we've already been to. Everything else isn't on the screen anymore."

Sam cursed loudly, turning away from the screens. "He fucked up the timelines."

"How? How did he even  _ manage _ this?"

"He did the same stupid thing Winchesters always do. He sold his soul." Sam huffed, turning back to examine the scrolling information. "Can we fix it?"

Charlie pursed her lips as she typed in line after line of code. "I think… I think maybe we can. But he's owned now. His mental signature has changed. We'd need a way to find the new one, or he'd have to get ownership of his soul back."

"Not likely," Sam muttered. "It's actually very smart. If Dean doesn't own himself, he can't actually consent to Michael taking control back. Which, I'm sure Michael's going to try anyways, but it'll be easier for Cas to get Dean back this way."

Charlie sighed, rubbing at her temples. "I can set up a system to run combinations of his and Castiel's signatures until we find more matches. I'll set up a separate one to only run pieces of Dean's initial signature, too, and…" Charlie went on, typing as she did. "Hopefully we'll find him again." She glanced up at Sam. "Your family has issues."

"Hey, you're part of this family."

"Exhibit A."

Sam smiled, releasing a long breath. "I'll see how phase two is coming along. You got this? You need anything?"

"Nah, bitch. I'm in my zone." She waved him off. "Keep me updated."

Sam paused a moment before pulling Charlie in for a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Thanks."

He left before he saw the small smile on her face.

\---

Dean looked around the void, waiting patiently for something to change.

It felt like he'd been there for hours.

"All this spacey stuff sucks," he told no one in particular.

Maybe he should go to the table? That's where he popped in at. But Sam was  _ here _ when he vanished so maybe  _ Dean _ should stay here, too.

He looked around, frowned hard. "Castiel?" he prayed.

He felt a tugging at his heart, pulling him over towards the table. He got to his feet awkwardly, making his way over. Distance had no meaning. He walked a few feet, he walked for miles.

He was halfway there when his hands tingled and he was snapped back underwater.

But this was  _ wrong, _ he was  _ wrong, _ he could stretch out in every direction and he couldn't  _ breathe _ and he felt like his insides were crawling up his throat and —

He was back in the void, coughing up water and blood and crawling to the table.

His fingers touched the legs and he inhaled water, hands firm against the  _ outside _ of a damn coffin. There were voices inside and he tried to pry it open he  _ tried he tried — _

And he was coughing up water and blood again, vision spotty as he hauled himself into his chair. He collapsed against the table only to sob in relief when Castiel's hands wrapped around him.

"Dean? Dean, talk to me."

With Cas's hands came cool healing, a lungful of water that didn't burn. "Cas?"

Castiel released a shaky breath. "You're okay. It's okay."

"Michael—"

"He's gone, now. It's okay. I thought… I could've sworn I heard you—"

"I was outside."

"You… That banging was you?"

Dean felt his palms tingle and clutched Castiel tighter. Cas pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes glowing blue.

"Dean. What happened?"

Dean dropped his head to Castiel's chest, forcing himself to calm. "I've been talking to Sam."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"There… There are some things I need to tell you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "The Diary of Jane" by Breaking Benjamin
> 
> "Something's getting in the way  
> Something's just about to break  
> I will try to find my place  
> In the diary of Jane  
> So, tell me  
> How it should be?"


	17. Slow Dance With You

Sam looked at the slide under a microscope, sighing heavily.

"Any luck?" Jack asked brightly, bringing in two mugs of cocoa.

Sam leaned back and smiled at him. "Ah, no. Not yet. What about you?"

"The spell is proving to be very tricky, but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon." He handed Sam a mug.

Sam took a sip and let out an appreciative breath. "This is good. Thank you."

"Of course. You've been working very hard. Perhaps you should take a break?"

Sam shook his head. "I keep thinking that if I just look one more time I'll find something I haven't yet."

"Have you?"

"No."

"Then I suggest a break. Besides, this is merely a backup plan. Put more faith into Operation E, Dad," Jack said, smiling at Sam.

Sam tensed for a moment before relaxing. "Dad, huh?"

"Do you not want me to call you that?"

"I… I like it. I've never been a dad before, though. I wouldn't know where to start."

"What did your dad do?"

Sam laughed bitterly. "My dad? My dad—" He thought back to his childhood, to all the major moments and memories that shaped him. "My dad was actually the coolest dad ever."

Jack perked up. "What was he like?"

"He was four years older than me," Sam said, eyes twinkling at Jack's confusion.

"He—? Oh. Oh! You mean Dean."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, he was my brother and my mom and my dad all rolled up into one. And he still managed to make it work."

Jack looked down into his cocoa. "What was your birth father like?"

Sam grimaced and took a big gulp of chocolate. "I hated him for a long time. But… I got older, and it was so long ago that I just… I stopped caring at all. He was driven, and brave, and single-minded. But none of those are good things if your kids aren't among your interests. There's a reason Dean raised me, and it's that our real dad never did."

"I understand."

Sam absently swirled his mug, smiling. "Ya know, Dean definitely was my brother, too, though. And he was a little piece of crap a lot of the times, but sometimes… sometimes he'd let it slip in public that he loved me." Sam leaned in conspiratorially. "He took me to my junior prom."

Jack's eyebrows raised. " _Dean_ did?"

Sam nodded, grinning. "My date never showed up so he and his friend Mark took me instead. We went and got milkshakes after we had stayed there for like, I dunno, an hour or so. It wasn't the best of parties. Then Mark took us to neat hidden places around town."

"And you didn't mind tagging along on their date?"

"Oh, no. Dean wasn't dating M—" Sam stopped with the mug halfway to his lips, eyes widening. "Oh my god. _Oh my god."_

"Dad?"

"I was third-wheeling. I ruined his date. Oh my god." Sam put his head on the table and groaned. "How did I just now—?"

Jack patted Sam's arm. "I'm sure you improved their date tremendously."

"I have to apologize."

"For something that happened so long ago?"

“Yeah, Jack. Sometimes you have to apologize for things that happened a long time ago.”

Jack tilted his head to the side, looking so much like Cas it hurt. “But what happened?”

Sam sighed. “Well…”

\---

I was young. Like I said, it was high school. I think we were somewhere in Texas on a ghoul hunt. We had actually stayed at that school long enough that prom rolled around. I know… I know you never went to public school, but prom was this big deal. You got a date, you dressed up nice, and you spent a night at a super lame party with all your friends.

There was this girl in my class, right? Her name was Isabelle. We used to study in the library together sometimes. Ya know, looking back I think she was just copying my notes but, for a kid and a pretty girl, it was amazing to me.

Dean would always pick me up after school and we’d walk back to wherever we were staying. It was usually just him, but after a while his friend Mark would come along too.

I seriously cannot believe that I—

Anyway. Moving on.

Mark was a cool guy. He didn’t talk a whole lot, but what he did say was either very nice or very funny. It was… It was a good time. I used to walk between them and they’d throw their arms over my shoulders like they were trying to embarrass me.

Anyway, so prom rolls around. And I asked Isabelle to go with me, and she said okay. Which, major win, for me.

So I’m at the motel room, and I’ve got on this terrible, I mean _terrible,_  baby blue tux. And Dean is sitting on the couch, trying not to laugh at me as Mark is trying to make my hair go one way.

I don’t really remember where Dad was, actually.

They walk me to the park just down the street where I agreed to meet Isabelle. And we’re waiting and waiting, and Dean and Mark are swinging on the swings a bit, and like, thirty minutes go by. Then an hour.

I remember Dean and Mark exchanged this look and kinda nodded at each other.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said. “We’re taking you to prom.”

And I was like, “No way. This is already embarrassing, there is _no way_ I am going with my brother.”

And he was like, “It’s Texas. No one’s gonna bat an eye.”

I told him they didn’t even have tuxes, and Mark grinned and said they already looked better than any of the kids at prom could even dream of being.

So, they took me to prom.

I— Jack, I honestly don’t know why I even wanted to go so bad. We got there and it was the lamest party I’d ever been to. There was awkward dancing and weird music and like. A punch bowl? And some chips. It was honestly bad.

But Dean, Mark, and I all sat in the bleachers and commented on the whole thing until I decided to get us all some punch.

I was making my way through the crowd and I saw her. Isabelle, with another guy making out in a corner. I was as heartbroken as a kid can be. So I went to go back to Dean and Mark, but they weren’t in the bleachers anymore.

Oh god I’m such an idiot…

They were on the dance floor. Like, slow dancing. Dean’s head literally on Mark’s shoulder as some sappy love song played.

I tried to get Dean’s attention, but his eyes were closed. Mark saw me, instead, and he gave me this like, shy smile, sorta. So I smiled back at him and headed their way.

I — gosh, I asked them if we could _leave._

And Dean got all nervous and asked why, and I told him Isabelle was sucking face over in the corner. And Dean glanced over at Mark and asked me, “So we’re not uh… embarrassing you?”

And I asked him why they would be embarrassing me.

And Dean relaxed and messed up my hair — which, remember, took Mark like an _hour_ to fix and said we could leave.

I remember I said, “Besides, I think the teachers don’t like you older kids being here.”

And Dean looked around because all the teachers were glaring at them, and Mark smiled at me and said, “You’re a wholesome kid, kid. Never change.”

So they took me out for milkshakes.

It was one of those themed diners, where it felt like it was the 20s. There was some kid a bit older than Mark working, and they nodded at each other before we sat down. Mark said he came here all the time and bought us all milkshakes.

Dean literally — Dean was _literally_ holding Mark’s hand above the table and I was just thinking that Dean was only ever cuddly when he slept.

We walked back home, and the Impala was sitting outside. Dean peered in the window and snuck back to us, said Dad was passed out.

So we stole the car.

Mark directed Dean to a cool lookout over the whole town. Dean and Mark put on some old cassette and left the doors open as they went outside to finish their dance under the stars. I remember the song ended and Dean glanced back at me and smiled wider than I’d ever seen him smile and asked if I wanted to learn how to dance.

I did.

\---

"You know how to dance?" Jack asked, smiling wide.

"Yes but I uh… I'm really bad at it." Sam examined Jack briefly. "Do you want me to teach you?"

Jack beamed at him. "Yes."

Sam downed the rest of his cocoa and stood up, holding out a hand to Jack. “This is a good skill to have. May help you woo that special someone.” He shrugged. “If you want to, that is.”

Jack took his hand easily. “Someone like Maggie?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, schooling his smile. “Yeah, I’m sure she’d love to dance with you, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “Then I would like to learn.”

“Okay, so. Stand like this, um, I know I’m taller than you but pretend I’m not if it’s easier. Put your hand here — no, here, and now move your feet… Yeah, that's it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Slow Dance" by Babeo Baggins (and covered by Marceline)
> 
> "Slow dance with you  
> I just want a slow dance with you  
> I know all the other boys are tough and smooth,  
> And I got the blues  
> I want a slow dance with you (x2)  
> I just want a slow dance with you  
> Why don't you take the chance?  
> I've got the moves I'd like to prove  
> I want a slow dance with you."


	18. Last of My Kind

"Castiel—"

"Dean, I am  _ trying _ to understand. I'm trying to hold back judgment, but  _ how _ could you fall into this?"

"I just… opened my eyes and suddenly—"

"Sam was there, yes, I know. You've told me. I mean, how can you fall into what is so  _ obviously _ a trap?"

"It's not a trap it's just… Sam."

"Sam. Sam, travelling not only through time but through dimensions as well, to drag your — how did you phrase it? — your  _ consciousness _ into an empty pocket dimension. And that's  _ plausible _ to you?"

"It's like… I mean, it's like Billy Pilgrim, kinda."

"Please do not tell me you're using  _ Slaughterhouse-Five _ to validate your point. You have to see that this is just Michael. You know this, Dean. You're not this gullible."

Dean was quiet a long time, lips pursed. "But what… What if it isn't?" he finally whispered.

Cas shook his head. “It is. I know this is hard for you, but we are here. Eternally. Even if Sam is not dead yet, he might as well be to you. You’re going to have to let him go.”

"Don't… don't sit there and tell me that in all of the galaxies out there, in all of the universes, that this is implausible."

Castiel grimaced, placing his fingertips against Dean's lips. "If you're speaking of aliens, they do not exist."

Dean's eyes widened. "Wha—"

"Dean. Be quiet. Allow me to disillusion you of the notion that more life exists out there. Do you understand that? That if even 0.1% of the potentially habitable planets in the Milky Way had life, there would be thousands of other civilizations out there? Do you understand how  _ unfathomably large _ this universe is? Do you understand that I have explored it all? Do you understand that we are  _ alone?" _

"We can't be—"

"We are. We are  _ it, _ Dean. Perhaps you have not thought of this yet, what with your rendezvous with Sam, but when this galaxy finally collapses in on itself? You will be the last human alive."

"How can—"

"God does not even take care of  _ this _ world; you truly believe he would create another? He created  _ one, _ and he let it split and split into all these different timelines. He stays with the one he likes best. You humans stare up at the stars, romanticizing the notion that someone out there is looking at them, too, far away. That perhaps all the adventures have not been had. That perhaps there are beings out there that can teach and shepherd you, that will come and love you like your own Father was supposed to. There aren't. You stare into  _ nothing. _ And you, Dean Winchester, fantasize that all of this science fiction  _ mess _ could happen because there is more to be learned, and surely someone else has figured it out, too."

Dean's hands went up of their own accord, tracing the constellations he had carved. "We're… alone."

And Castiel's heart sank.

He yanked his hand back. "Dean… Dean I didn't mean to—"

"There is no one waiting for us out there."

"I went too far. I lost my temper. I'm so—"

"Millions of light years and millions of stars and millions of planets are we are alone."

The planets move. They are silent, and they are empty, and they do not care.

"Maybe… Maybe sometime in the future life will grow on these other planets and—"

"And we won't be around to tell them hello." Dean's fingers clenched into fists against the fake stars. "What is it like up there, right now? Is everything gone? Am I already the last human alive? Is it just ruins? Has the sun collapsed? Did Sam die alone? Did he miss me when he died? Did he face the unknown alone? Did he waste his whole life trying to save us? Is that what he has always done? Can I change anything? Does the river just feed back into itself?"

Castiel's face was a picture of terror, hand reaching out but not quite touching, unsure of what to say to undo the damage that had been done. "Do… Do not be afraid," he finally said, voice shaking as he laid one hand on Dean's shoulder. "Humans were not meant to understand and I'm sorry that I forgot that."

"Were humans the first or the last thing to go?"

Castiel closed his eyes in pain. "The first," he said. "Humans are always the first to go."

Dean winced as he realized with sudden clarity where he was. He was in a box, in the ocean, on a planet, in a solar system, in a galaxy, in a galaxy cluster, in a universe that never ended. Directly above him were countless stars, trillions of miles of empty space, corpses of planets. He was a speck, a small, insignificant piece of matter in a large, insignificant universe.

"I'm here," Castiel whispered.

And Dean was clutching him tight, drenched fabric giving way easily to desperate fingers. "Never leave me," he begged.

"I will never leave you."

"Even when the universe is destroyed—"

Castiel held his hands tightly. "I will not leave your side."

Dean rested his forehead against Castiel's, trying to quell the panic that had risen in his chest.

"Why Billy Pilgrim?" Castiel asked him, fingers pressed against the back of Dean's neck, palms against his pulse.

"Why anything?"

"Dean."

"He couldn't control it," Dean responded.

"Sam can't control his time travel?"

Dean shook his head. "He acts like he can, but he's just hoping for the best."

"Look," Castiel began, pulling Dean into his arms. "It is very, very unlikely that what you're seeing is Sam. But it was also unlikely that you would stop multiple apocalypses. It was unlikely that we would survive Purgatory. We are made of unlikely things, Dean. If hope is what you need, do not relinquish it."

"You're what I need," Dean whispered.

"Then do not relinquish me," Castiel whispered back.

"I won't."

Cas dared a kiss on Dean's cheek. Dean turned his head, lips brushing against Castiel's.

"Sam has a life up there."

"Maybe he will save us, and then you can be part of it again."

"Yeah," Dean said, tracing the stars again. "Maybe."

Castiel reached out, pressing his fingers between Dean's. "I'm sorry that I ignited the terror within you. I forget how intrinsically humans are pack animals. The idea of being truly alone goes against your nature."

"It's just… all I can think about is the day we try, ya know? When humans take to the heavens and everyone is waving the crew off, and everyone is so excited. And they're travelling, and they're travelling, and there's nothing. And the next crew goes farther, and there's nothing. And we search and we measure until we realize we are the only ones searching."

"Humans are resilient. They will never give up hope."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean furrowed his brow. "Wait, what the fuck is in Area 51 then?"

"Are… Are you serious? You haven't figured it out yet?"

"Should I have?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Monsters, Dean. Monsters are in Area 51."

\---

Claire slung her bag hard against the ground, jumping past the last two steps and charging into the Bunker.

"Who  _ the fuck _ forgot to tell me my dads are stuck at the  _ bottom of the  _ **_fucking_ ** _ ocean?!" _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Last of My Kind" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit
> 
> "Am I the last of my kind?  
> Daddy said the river would always lead me home  
> But the river can't take me back in time  
> And daddy's dead and gone"


	19. Teenagers

Sam paused with his cocoa halfway to his lips. "Hello, Claire."

She marched up to him, combat boots clunking loudly as she stuck her finger in his face. "Where the  _ fuck _ do you get off keeping me out of the loop, huh?"

Sam glanced up to where Jody was struggling to bring bags in through the door. "Hey, Jody," he called out amiably.

"I'm on Claire's side," Jody responded, handing a bag off to Donna and pointing in the direction of the spare bedrooms. "And when she's done with you, I'd like a word."

Donna shouldered him gently as she passed. "Good to see ya. Tough that we're all mad at ya, though."

Sam put his hands up defensively, keeping hold of his mug. "I've been kinda busy, guys. Sorry I don't send out a newsletter."

"I can't believe you would be so  _ selfish _ that you couldn't even tell us what's been going on for  _ months!" _ Claire fumed, jabbing at Sam's chest.

"I was scared  _ this _ would happen!" Sam defended, taking a step back.

"Well which is it, Sam? Were you busy or were you scared?" Claire growled.

"I—"

"Or were you just taking on the whole  _ fucking _ world on your own again, huh?"

Sam stared into furious eyes and sighed. "The uh… The third one."

"How many people are helping with this? Right this instant?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, highly uncomfortable. "Uh, two."

"Well it's  _ five _ now. Get fucking used to it." Claire shoved past him towards the rooms, leaving her bag at the foot of the stairs.

Sam looked deep into his cocoa as if it held the answers.

"Sam," Jody said behind him, leaning against the entryway.

Sam smiled at her. "Kids, huh?"

Jody raised an eyebrow. "She's an adult and she has valid reason to be angry with you. We haven't heard from you in  _ months. _ And the last time you talked to Claire you sure did make it seem like Dean was around here somewhere."

"I didn't want to involve her. This is already complicated enough," Sam said decisively, taking a sip from his drink.

Claire rounded the corner and brushed past them, grabbing her bag and turning back around. She stared at Sam with cold eyes, grabbed his cocoa, and downed it in one gulp.

Sam caught the mug when she chunked it over her shoulder as she walked back down the hall.

He sighed into its empty depths. "I don't know how to handle her."

"You don't 'handle' her. She doesn't need handling. She  _ needs _ to be treated like an adult by her uncle." Jody gave him a pointed look, arms crossed. "She's angry because she believes she could have helped. We're  _ all _ angry because  _ you _ didn't bother asking."

"That's because I've got it under control."

"I find that hard to believe. When's the last time you ate something?"

"I had a granola bar this morning. Uh, yesterday evening… Yesterday? Recently."

Jody rolled her eyes and plucked the mug out of Sam's hands. "Look. You're taking a break for food and we're all going to talk."

"I have  _ work _ to do. I can't waste any time. In case you somehow forgot, Dean is—"

"On the bottom of the ocean, in a box with Castiel and Michael. Yeah, we got it. And the entire  _ problem _ here is that we didn't get it from you. Charlie told Bobby, Bobby told Mary, Mary told Donna, and Donna told me." Jody met Sam's eyes in a challenge. "There shouldn't have been a chain like that. We are giving you a chance to fix this by filling us in on the details. Don't blow it." Jody glanced back down the hallway, frowning at something. "Thirty minutes and we are  _ all _ going into town for food."

Sam massaged the bridge of his nose. "When you say  _ all, _ who…?"

"Us three, you, and Charlie. And anyone else directly involved."

"So Jack. Ugh, it'll be a tight squeeze."

"Wait, Jack's here?"

"Well, yeah, he's—"

Sam was cut off by a loud curse, shortly followed by angry footsteps. Claire stomped into the room, dragging Jack by the arm.

"I have a cousin," she said plainly, free fist clenched.

"Technically, no one here is  _ actually _ related," Sam tried.

Claire looked over to Jack, who was glancing wildly between everyone present. When she finally looked back to Sam, her eyes were shiny. "You're not the only fucking person who cares about them, okay?" She released Jack roughly. "Get your head out of your ass, Sam. You're not fucking alone."

Jack watched her walk back down the hallway curiously. "We're related?" he asked Sam, turning innocent eyes to him.

Sam looked to Jody, who shrugged. "Uh, yeah," Sam said. "That's Jimmy's daughter. And also kinda Cas and Dean's?"

Jack furrowed his brows. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" He glanced back down the hall. "Is it because she's loud?"

Sam felt guilt settle deep in his stomach. "I… I just haven't really been thinking about… other people for a while, I guess."

Jody gave Sam a soft smile. "Kid," Jody began, turning to Jack, "come with me. I'll introduce you two properly while Sam gets ready."

"Gets ready?" Jack questioned, falling easily under Jody's arm.

"We're going out for food."

Jack grinned wide. "Awesome! We haven't been outside the Bunker in a long time."

"My friends and I are going to try and fix that." She turned back to Sam briefly. "Wash up. I'm sure you haven't showered in a while, too."

Sam touched his hair self-consciously. "I… Yeah. Okay."

Jack blinked at him. "Dad?"

Sam jumped. "Uh, yeah?"

"What does 'fuck' mean?"

\---

Claire stared determinedly out the window, watching the trees whiz by. It was late autumn. Most of the leaves were gone, and those that weren't were brown. Claire thought back to when her kindergarten teacher had made them all color fall trees and had given them orange, red, and purple crayons.

What a load of shit.

The leaves had always been fucking brown. Sure, sometimes they  _ looked _ like they were red or orange or purple, but brown is where they always, always stayed.

Speaking of…

"Tell your kid to stop fucking staring at me," Claire told Sam, squirming her way farther into the back seat. Jack stared at her from the passenger's seat, wide-eyed.

"Jack," Sam mumbled distractedly, following Jody's car, "stop making Claire uncomfortable."

"I want to talk to her, and I know that I first need to make eye contact to do so," Jack responded.

"Claire," Sam sighed, "talk to Jack."

"Oh, what was that? It sounded like the wind outside just tried to speak to me."

Jack's eyes widened. "It did?"

Sam pulled to a brief stop behind Jody, looking across the four-way intersection. "We were all stuck in here together to do some talking. We should probably talk."

"I'll start," Jack offered seriously. "Claire seems to be angry at you."

Sam forced a smile, making a left turn. "Thank you, Jack. Claire, do you have anything to add to that?"

"Wait, I'm sorry, do I exist now?" she snapped, glaring at the dying trees. "I thought I only existed when you thought I'd be useful."

"Claire, it is not like that and you know it."

"Do I? Because I sure am having a hard time thinking up evidence to the contrary." A hard gust of wind blew a few leaves against the window.

"I get wrapped up in things, okay? And I know I shouldn't but I do. And it's my  _ brother, _ and I feel like  _ I _ have to be the one to save him."

"Yeah? Have you considered that this isn't all about you and your feelings, jackass?"

Sam ran a hand over his face, pulling into a parking lot. "Claire, I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what to—"

"Forget it." She opened the car door and walked over to Jody easily.

Jack stared at Sam, at the way he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I'm… I'm upset that you never told me I had family," he said slowly, choosing his words. "And I'm upset that neither Castiel nor Dean told me, too."

"Are you mad at me?"

Jack looked at Sam's slouched figure, his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes. "No," Jack found himself saying. "I'm not mad at you. But I am mad."

Sam half-laughed. "So you're mad at the world?"

Jack felt a weird tension in his shoulders, a clenching of his heart. It scared him. "I guess," he lied.

\---

It was a small diner but bustling with activity. All six of them slid into a booth, Sam shoved to the inside by Charlie and Jack. Claire perched beside Donna, seemingly ready to walk out if need be.

"So," Jody started once the waiter had taken their drink orders, "this plan of yours."

Sam blinked blearily, the weariness of the past few hours catching up with him. "Uh, yeah. Um, we're gonna use a void pocket dimension to drag Cas and Dean out of the box. And then—" Sam trailed off, attention grabbed by the myriad of sugar packets in a little container. "Then um, the plan is to drag them from there into a separate dimension into  _ another _ ma'lak box, but this one will be where we can just unlatch it from the outside."

"Uh-huh. And what about Michael?" Jody asked, eyeing Sam warily.

Sam picked up a few of the pink packets nonchalantly. "He'll still be stuck in this dimension. We won't drag him over."

"Don't eat those."

Sam looked offended. "I wasn't gonna."

"How can we help?" Donna asked.

"Charlie and I have it under control. It gets more complicated the more people there are."

"Sam," Donna began, sighing, "ya can't do this on your own."

"I'm not alone," Sam responded, shoving the sugar packets back into their container. "I have Jack and Charlie."

"That's not enough people to— Claire, honey, where are ya goin'?"

Claire raised one eyebrow. "Bathroom."

Donna gave a brief nod before turning back to Sam. "That's not enough people to make this work and ya know it. Look at ya! Ya look as if ya haven't slept in weeks, Sam."

The waiter came back with their drinks, and Sam had downed half of his sweet tea before the man had even taken their orders. "I'm fine," he told the waiter. "BLT," he told Donna.

Jack glanced out the large windows as the adults argued under the guise of talking. "Sam," Jack announced, standing up. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Charlie scooted into his spot as Sam said, "Okay."

Jack left the building.

\---

Claire walked deeper into the forest, kicking piles of brown leaves. All brown. They were all always  _ fucking _ brown.

She reached up and pulled a red leaf off a tree, inspecting it thoroughly. "Sam," she named it before letting it float to the ground.

"Um, Jack, actually," Jack said behind her, causing her to spin quickly, hand poised over her gun.

She huffed and relaxed her stance. "You scared the shit out of me," she told him, turning back to kick some leaves. "Why did you follow me?"

"You seemed upset."

"I am."

"Were you hoping I was Sam?"

"What? No, I— Look, I don't expect you to get it."

Jack shrugged, sitting down on a nearby log. "I can try."

Claire regarded him suspiciously for a moment before stooping to pick the red leaf up again. "This is Sam," she told him. "It looks red, right?"

Jack nodded.

"It's not. Not really. In a few days it'll be brown, and it'll stay brown until it's gone. That's a leaf's true color. Brown."

"What about evergreens?"

Claire laughed bitterly, sitting beside Jack. "Dean was the only evergreen I really knew."

He stared at the leaf still in her hands. "You think Sam doesn't care about you," he finally realized.

"Red leaves. They all turn brown."

"You think no one can care about you."

"I'm a fuck up, alright? I know that. I get into trouble and I start fights and I get angry so easily. I don't expect anyone to care. I just wish they'd quit pretending." Claire dropped the leaf, losing it in the pile.

Jack was silent a long time. "I'm upset, too," he finally said.

"Yeah? A little cinnamon bun like you?"

"I'm angry."

"At Sam? Join the club, buddy."

Jack felt that tension again, that sharp jab under his ribs, that stinging behind his eyes. "At Castiel," he gritted out. "At Dean." He clenched his fists.

Claire's eyes trailed across the emotions on his face. "Dean didn't really have a choice, ya know."

"Castiel did." Jack hung his head low, jaw tight. "He had a choice, and he chose to leave us here.  _ They _ chose to leave us here. They chose to let Sam waste his life away trying to save them."

"You don't think the plan will work?"

Jack kicked at the leaves. "No."

Claire whistled low. "That's rough, buddy."

"You're not mad at them?"

Claire met his eyes, similarly shiny. "Of course I am," she whispered with all the force she could muster. "I'm pissed. I'm pissed that Dean wasn't here for my birthday. I'm pissed Castiel hasn't sent me a stupid Minion meme in months. I'm pissed that Sam is so fucking  _ obsessed _ with saving them that he's let his own needs fall beside. I'm angry, and I'm scared, and I hate it because I can't tell them I'm mad. I… can't tell them anything."

"Castiel was the only one who seemed to truly understand me. He stood for me when no one else did. When he left it was… like a hole in my chest. Like I wasn't enough."

"That's how Sam is making me feel. Like I'm not enough."

"We lost our family," Jack told her, the same way he might tell her, 'oh, we have a movie night tonight' or 'oh, we took a wrong turn back there.'

"Maybe we just never had it," she responded, toeing absently at the leaves.

Jack stared at her for a moment before pulling a knife out of his back pocket and making a quick slash across his palm. "I'll be your family," he told Claire with great conviction, blood beginning to drip down his proffered hand.

She stared at him, wide-eyed a moment before gingerly taking the knife from him. "You swear it?" Claire asked warily, searching his face for signs of dishonesty.

"I swear it. I will be your brother. We will look after each other and stand by each other always. There will be no lies nor dishonor between us. Any problems we have, we will work through. We will be to ourselves what they have not yet succeeded in being to us."

Claire nodded resolutely, making a long cut across her palm. "Any last minute confessions?" she asked, hand hovering over Jack's.

"I'm the son of Satan, but I do not claim him."

Any hesitations Claire had disappeared. She smiled wide at him. "I already knew that, but thanks for admitting it to me. Um, I'm lesbian."

"I thought you were American."

Claire snorted, covering her mouth with her unwounded hand. "You know Vines?"

"I get bored sometimes." Jack smiled gently at her. "Do you swear to uphold the terms laid out before us?"

"I swear it. Do you swear it as well?"

"I swear it."

Claire grasped his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Then you're my brother." Their palms pressed together.

"You're my sister."

Blood squished between their fingers and Claire wrinkled her nose, grinning.

"This is disgusting."

"And terribly unsanitary."

"Well if I had known this was gonna happen, I wouldn't have been picking up so much shit."

Jack cracked a grin at her and she laughed loudly.

"Jack, what if we just ran away? Right now. I know some places we could stay."

"Then Sam would actually work himself to death."

"None of them stay dead, though."

Jack stood up and pulled her to her feet, releasing her hand. "I think we should go back. They need us."

"You think they've even realized we were gone?"

"No, they definitely haven't." 

Claire laughed softly, picking her way back to the diner. "What is it with old people?"

Jack opened the door for her, glancing at the full booth. "I hope we never find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Teenagers" by MCR
> 
> "Teenagers scare  
> The living shit out of me.  
> They could care less  
> As long as someone'll bleed"


	20. Tenerife Sea

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?"

Dean turned to Cas, head resting on his bent arm. "Nothing, actually," Dean said, surprising even himself.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Me, too. But my mind is quiet."

Cas gave him a soft smile. "Well, don't let me ruin the first quiet moment you've had in years."

Dean's hand trailed across the curves of Castiel's face. "You're not. It's still quiet."

Cas kissed Dean's fingertips as they passed by his lips. "No anxiety? No worries?"

"Hakuna matata," Dean responded, absently pushing his fingers through Castiel's hair.

Cas closed his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I feel content," Dean mumbled, catching Cas's lips with his own briefly. "There's nothing I have to do down here. There's none of the stress that was always on my mind outside the water. Anything I could be stressed about doesn't matter, because I can't do anything here. It's… freeing."

"There is sometimes, albeit rarely, a great peace in having your agency taken away."

"... Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything."

Dean swallowed harshly, removing his hands from Castiel as if in penance. "When… When Michael took over that second time… part of me was… was happy about it. Because it meant I didn't have to worry about that happening anymore. It happened, I couldn't stop it, and I was so stressed about that entire situation that an outcome — any outcome — was better than all the damn worrying."

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but Dean plowed right on through.

"And I get that that probably makes me a terrible person, but the thought that maybe I didn't have to really exist in the world and couldn't cause any more problems just… gave me some peace. Like this. I don't really exist in the world anymore."

"That just makes you human, Dean. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"How are you so understanding?"

Castiel shrugged, pulling Dean's hands back to him. "When I was human for that short while, I was overwhelmed by all of the things you have to deal with. There was so much information that it became basically static. It gave me a much greater appreciation for all that humans deal with."

"What was your favorite part?"

"Of being human? The sex," Cas deadpanned.

Dean choked and Castiel chuckled slightly.

"I'm joking," he whispered. "My favorite part was also my most hated one: how raw every emotion felt. I have always had a… keener sense of my emotions, I suppose, than my brothers and sisters, but even I was caught unaware." Cas shook his head. "It's like every emotion catches in your throat and behind your eyes, and it's never just one. As an angel, emotions feel more physical, like changes in our very anatomy. With humans, it's like they're pushing to get out of you at all times."

"Yeah, emotions are hard."

"I understand that now. It helped me understand you, as well, and how your emotions claw their way out of you."

"Yeah? And how's that?" Dean asked, smirking.

"It's in your actions. When you're happy, you'll cook dinner. When you're stressed, you'll clean. When you're sad, you'll work on your 'Dean Cave'. And when you're in love—" Castiel side-eyed Dean, "—you'll stand too close."

Dean snorted, covering his mouth with his hand. "Excuse me, _you're_ the one that stands too close!"

"Well I don't see you moving away."

Dean hooked a leg around Castiel, pulling him flush against him. "I even tried to teach you about personal space!"

"And our relationship was of a very personal nature! I logically assumed that I was allowed to share this 'personal space' with you," Castiel snarked back, air quoting against Dean's cheeks.

Dean grinned wide. "I'm calling bullshit, babe. You didn't do that with Sam."

"That's not entirely true. I once sat close to him at a library for lack of space."

"And you would practically be fusing with me in the middle of an empty room!"

"And risk creating _another_ nephilim? Unlikely story, Dean."

Dean's shoulders were shaking with poorly-contained laughter. "Not that kinda fusing."

"Well, how am I ever supposed to understand when they're _constantly_ renaming intercourse?"

"No one in the history of time has called intercourse 'fusing'."

"There is no way you can be sure of that."

"I'm like, 98% sure."

"Two percent of people are very upset with you now, Dean."

"Good! It's their own fault for calling fucking 'fusing'!"

"I think you'd better watch your fusing mouth."

Dean threw his head back and laughed. "Dammit, Cas, I was holding it together until that."

"Sure you were. Admit it: I always win in these little banters of ours."

"Oh, you wanna keep tally? We can keep tally. I will destroy you."

"Dean, perhaps we should have a talk about your pathological lying."

Dean rested his head on Castiel's shoulder, shoulders shaking silently.

Castiel's lips twitched up as he patted Dean's shoulders comfortingly. "There, there, Dean. I know it's a difficult concept for you to grasp, but there's no shame in losing to an angel. Perhaps one day you might be so good as to tie with me."

" _Tie_ with you?" Dean gasped out, fake-offended. "Is that all I have to look forward to?"

"Well, no. You have this," Castiel pressed a soft kiss to Dean's grinning mouth.

"So then I win."

"Of course not," Cas deadpanned. "This is reality, Dean."

Dean's jaw dropped, silent a moment before bursting into laughter again. "That's— That's so _cold,"_ he said, slightly awed.

Castiel kissed him again, smirking against his lips. "And that is why I shall always win."

"Are you gonna kiss me every time I lose?" Dean mumbled, parting his lips, brushing them against Cas's.

"It's your consolation prize," Cas rumbled, angling his head to press another kiss against Dean's open mouth.

Dean chuckled softly, tongue darting out for a moment before saying, "Then I should really lose more often."

Cas pulled back to stare into Dean's eyes. "Dean," he said in all seriousness, "that's not statistically possible."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Castiel's eyes twinkled. "As you wish."

\---

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said much later, head resting on Castiel's chest, leg and arm thrown haphazardly over his body.

"Yes?" Castiel's voice rumbled through his ears.

"I know that talking about Sam-Michael upsets you but—"

"Dean, you can always talk to me about anything. Even this. _Especially_ this." Cas's hands were firm against Dean's back.

"Okay. Okay, good. And you can do the same, okay?"

"Okay." Cas smiled. "Now, what about Samichael?"

"I'm gonna tell him goodbye."

"That's… a very big step for you, Dean. I know that won't be easy."

"Well… the way I figure, there are two options. One: it's Michael, and I need to stop falling into his hands. Or two: it's Sam, and he's wasting his life away trying to save us."

"You Winchesters were always very good at that."

Dean let out a breath. "Yeah. Yeah, we were. And it's not fair to him, ya know? I'm… I'm okay here. I'm happy here. And maybe it would be different if I was down here alone, but… I'm not. I've got you. And I'm okay with that."

"As much as I want you to move on from this trap," Cas said slowly, choosing his words, "I also want to be sure you've considered every possible angle."

"Like what?"

"You're aware that — operating with the idea of it truly being Sam — we will never go anywhere. It will be you and me, and occasionally Michael, for eternity, with nothing to do but talk and tell stories."

"I'm aware."

Cas cleared his throat, glad Dean couldn't see his blush. "And you're aware that we can never um, _fuze_ down here, correct?"

Dean was quiet a moment, listening to the easy rise and fall of Castiel's chest. "Can I tell you something weird?"

"Do you ever tell me anything else?"

Dean smiled, shoving Cas playfully before settling back down. "Not gonna say I don't wanna bone you, Cas, because I do. But it's… not as big a deal as it once was, I guess. And I'm sure I'll be tempted to make it super gross in here sometimes but… do you know how _long_ I've stared at your lips and dreamt of nothing more than simply being able to kiss you? Or even hold your hand?" Dean propped his head up to try and see Castiel. "This is already so much more than I ever thought I'd actually get, Cas. It's already more than I dared to want. I'm okay with just this. Really."

"... So this is what humans mean when they say they have butterflies in their stomach."

Dean gave him a small smile, pushing forward to kiss him. "I love you, Castiel."

"I love you, too," Castiel whispered in awe.

"How are them butterflies?" Dean teased lightly.

"Still there," Cas whispered. "They may have taken up permanent residence."

"We should charge them rent," Dean told Castiel's lips.

Cas made some non-committal sound before losing himself in Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran
> 
> "Should this be  
> The last thing I see,  
> I want you to know  
> It's enough for me.  
> Because all that you are  
> Is all that I'll ever need.  
> I'm so in love."


	21. Cat's in the Cradle

Maggie poured herself a cup of coffee, savoring the smell of it even with her sleep-addled mind. Coffee had been a luxury back home, one she hadn't been able to afford for years.

Her coffee mug said 'I like big cups and I cannot lie' and she could only assume it was once Dean's.

She hadn't really gotten the chance to know Dean. She knew he was important to Sam, and that Sam was important to her. That was really all that mattered.

"Maggie," Jack said behind her, walking into the kitchen. He slept more now, Maggie noticed. He was far more human.

"Hey, Jack," she said, raising her mug to him in greeting. "You're up early."

"Claire and I were going to spend today mapping out the Bunker." He found a cereal box and sat it on the counter as he looked for milk. "Would you like to join us?"

"Claire?"

Jack poured a bowl of milk before shaking in some cereal. Maggie shuddered. "Yeah," he said. "Dean's daughter. Like I'm Sam's son, in a way. But she's my sister."

"Uh-huh," Maggie intoned, not understanding at all.

"We realized we didn't know the layout of the Bunker very well. I mean, everyone knows the main rooms, but all the side rooms have been largely unexplored."

"Aren't you working on a spell for Sam?"

Jack stiffened, sugary cereal halfway to his mouth. "Come with us and I'll tell you about it."

"You drive a hard bargain. I didn't have anything to do today, I suppose." Maggie opened a few cabinets, looking for a travel mug. "You think we'll need weapons?"

"Maybe," Jack said around his cereal.

"Mornin', kiddos," Donna said cheerfully as she walked into the kitchen, headed directly to the coffee pot.

Maggie blinked at her. "I'm guessing we got some new tenants yesterday?"

"Oh sure. Jody, Claire, and I all hopped on over this way to check on Sam. He hasn't exactly been keepin' us up to date." Donna rummaged through the cabinets until she found a bowl.

"Take note," Maggie mumbled to Jack as Donna poured in cereal and then milk.

"Are you upset with Sam, too?" Jack asked Donna, eyes wide at her cereal.

"Well sure, a bit I suppose. But I do understand where he's comin' from." She took a sip of her coffee as she tried to find a spoon.

"Where's that?"

"His heart, of course." Donna pulled up a chair beside Jack, smiling at him. "Dean's been all he's had for his whole life. It's hard to let somethin' like that go."

Maggie sat opposite them, mug warming her hands. "Sam isn't letting go," she stated.

Donna shook her head. "He never really does, does he? Neither of them do."

"Castiel can't let go, either," Jack told his cereal.

"Now, him I didn't know. Heard he was quite the looker, though."

"Dean sure seemed to think so," Maggie snorted.

Donna rolled her eyes, smiling. "Oh, I know. Used to go on an' on about him. I hope they're talking through some things right now."

Jack nodded. "They are. They're together now."

Donna smiled wide. "Well, I'll drink to that," she said lightly, taking a swig from her coffee.

Jack considered taking a drink of his milk but decided against it. "Is Claire awake yet?"

"This early? Of course not. It'll be a few hours still. She's not a morning person."

Maggie nodded at Jack. "That gives us time to find map materials."

Jack returned the gesture before going back to eating his cereal.

\---

Claire used her foot to hold back the dodo as she opened another door. "Why can't you keep this thing in a room or something?" she asked, peering inside the room cautiously.

"He's a free creature. He likes exploring," Jack explained, knife at the ready.

Maggie was looking at all the doors and then looking at her sketches, making sure everything lined up. "He always winds up at the foot of my bed," she said distractedly.

"He likes you."

Maggie grinned at Jack. "Tell him to quit it."

"All clear," Claire announced, swinging the door open fully. The bird ran inside full-speed.

The three of them watched the bird explore. It pecked at a few of the piled-high boxes.

"Can we name it?" Claire asked finally, striding into the room.

Maggie sat down her papers and dragged her hands across the top of one of the boxes. Dust came off in droves. "I vote Colonel Sanders."

Claire grinned back at Maggie. "I second that!"

They got to work opening the boxes, Colonel Sanders parkouring across the tops of the stacks.

Claire's eyes widened as she stared at the box contents. "Woah."

Jack's head popped up beside hers, similarly shocked. "Is that—"

"Are these all—"

Maggie reached into the box she had opened, pulling out an old, dusty bottle of whiskey. "I think we found the Men of Letters's stash, guys."

"Well…" Claire began, pulling two more bottles out, "let's see how well it held up."

\---

They sat against a wall, each varying degrees of drunk, talking loudly.

"He didn't call us or  _ anything," _ Claire slurred, free hand out and waving around.

"He won't—" Maggie interrupted herself with a hiccup. "He won't let anyone help with anything. He just locks himself up in that lab all day every day. If he'd just  _ let us all help _ we coulda had 'em back by now.'

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," Jack groaned out.

"Head between your knees," Claire and Maggie said simultaneously.

"He just — He acts like he's the only person he can trust! Charlie is only there because she knows how to work computers!" Maggie exclaimed, the whiskey shaking up her emotions.

"He's tearing himself apart," Jack said, voice muffled by his knees. "I keep trying to make him take a break but he never stops for long. It's like he thinks his only purpose in life is being there for Dean."

"He's an inconsiderate jerk," Claire announced, bottle held high as she took another drink.

Sam closed his eyes in pain, leaning against the wall beside the door, just out of their view.

How was he supposed to handle this? How could he  _ fix _ this? They all hated him. They all—

"And we're a bunch of fucking liars," came Claire's voice, choked.

Sam opened his eyes.

"I miss him," Maggie said quietly. "He was our chief, and he genuinely cared about all of us. He'd take me out for ice cream sometimes and we'd just… talk. I haven't talked to him in weeks."

"He's hurting himself," Jack said. "He's hurting himself and he won't let me help and I don't know what to do. I can't— I can't lose him, too."

"He used to  _ call," _ Claire said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "He used to call and we'd talk about whatever dumb book he had read, and he'd visit me and we'd play video games and —" She cut herself off with a laugh. "You know he took me to the zoo? I told him I'd never been and he just up and took me. And he pointed to a moose and said, 'That's me' and now I get sad every time I see a fucking  _ moose _ on TV. How do you even explain that to someone?"

"We used to go running together, around the forest in the mornings," Maggie said, wiping her own face. "And he'd sometimes wake me up extra early so we could go see the sunrise. And sometimes we would just run into town and grab some breakfast." She inhaled shakily. "That's what my older brother used to do. And now he's dead, but I had Sam, ya know? At least I had Sam."

"I love him more than anything," Jack whispered, finally lifting his head out from between his knees.

Sam ran off as quietly as he could.

\---

Donna was reading a book when Sam careened into the library.

"Sam! Didn't expect to—" Her eyes widened as she saw his face, red and streaming with tears. "Oh no. What happened?"

"Dean and I used to sneak into liquor stores and buy alcohol."

Donna froze, staring. "Sam?"

"Not very often just, sometimes when Dad wasn't home." He took a shaky breath. "And Dean never got as mad as I did but we would sit around whatever fucking motel room Dad had dumped us in and bitch about him."

"I don't—… Sam, what's wrong?"

"I'm my dad," he whispered before sliding down against the wall, head buried in his hands.

Donna sat her book down hurriedly, jogging over to sit beside him. "Hey, hey now. Don't cry. Just tell me what happened."

"He was never there for us and he always put work over family and I'm turning into  _ him _ I'm turning into—"

"Sam."

Sam looked over at Donna, eyes wide.

"If ya don't wanna be your father, don't be."

"I don't know how to stop," Sam whispered, terrified.

Donna sighed softly, hand on Sam's shoulder. "Ya said ya wanna be there for those kids?"

Sam nodded.

"They're making a map of the Bunker. Go help."

"But Dean—"

"Are ya actually makin' any headway on that front?"

"Not… Not at the moment…"

"And ya won't without help. But no one is aimin' to help ya until ya start takin' care of yourself. So if ya wanna help Dean, help yourself, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths until the shaking stopped. "I'm sorry I didn't call you," Sam whispered.

Donna gave him a sad smile. "That's all any of us wanted to hear."

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder. When was the last time he hugged anyone?

"We've got ya, Sam," Donna whispered. "We've got ya."

\---

Sam knocked on the open door lightly before stepping into the room.

Three pairs of red-rimmed eyes looked up at him.

He gave them a soft smile, well-aware that his own eyes matched. "Need some help?"

There was disbelief in their eyes, but wary happiness, as well.

Maggie motioned to the tall stacks of boxes. "If you could catch Colonel Sanders, that would be swell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin
> 
> "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> "When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when"  
> But we'll get together then  
> You know we'll have a good time then"


	22. Snow

"Maggie."

Maggie groaned, blinking her eyes open. "Who th're?"

"It's Sam."

Maggie yawned, leaning over to check her alarm. "It's 4am."

"I just… I'm going out for a run. Thought you might wanna join?"

Maggie eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, okay. I'll be in the kitchen in a few."

Sam flashed her a grin. "Meet ya there!"

\---

Sam was filling his water bottle when Maggie walked into the kitchen, joggers and one of Claire's shirts on.

"Ready?" Sam asked, throwing her a bottle.

She caught it easily. "Let's go."

They started at an easy pace, the chilly air of autumn burning their lungs.

"So, I was thinking," Sam began, sneakers thumping on the dirt path, "that I've been a kind of shitty chief lately."

Maggie shook her head. "You were listening to us yesterday, weren't you?"

"Maybe a little."

"Are you just doing this to get back in our graces?"

Sam frowned, upping the pace. "No."

Maggie kept her eyes firmly forward. To look over at Sam would be to acknowledge that this conversation was raw in their hearts. "You know we love you?"

"Yeah."

"And we didn't really mean the first stuff we said?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah. I know. I'm not— I'm not incompetent, you know. There are stages of grief and you three are…" He sighed. "You three are in the anger stage. I get it."

She resisted the urge to glance over, focusing instead on her breathing. "And you're at bargaining."

"I know. I'm kinda hoping we get Dean and Cas back and I don't have to progress any further."

"I never saw you angry."

Sam laughed, the usual warmth in the sound gone. "That's because I run alone when I'm angry."

Maggie stopped running abruptly, eyes wide. Sam ran a few more steps before he managed to stop and look back.

"I thought…" Maggie trailed off, finally meeting his eyes, "that you just didn't wanna run with _me."_

"I know. I should've said something instead of just… abandoning you. But you also should've come to me, Maggie. You can talk to me about this stuff. I've been through it all."

"I wanted to help you. I didn't want to seem… even a little weak." She shook her head, starting up a light pace again.

Sam matched it easily. "We're all a little weak. And we all have stuff to work on. And… maybe you three hurt my feelings a bit, but you were right. I've pushed everything else aside, just like my dad used to do. And I don't wanna be him, so I'm taking steps to fix it."

"So you'll let us help?"

Sam winced, then took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna let you all help."

"This is a good place to start."

"Yeah. Hey, cut through here. There's a clearing this way, and the sun's about to come up."

\---

"Knight to E...4?" Dean said, thinking hard. "Or— fuck, is that in the line of your queen?"

"I don't know. Is it?" Cas teased.

"C'mon, man, take it easy on me! I'm no good at this mental chess thing."

"And you never will be if I continue to baby you into it. Now, is that your move?"

Dean huffed. "Yeah."

"Queen to E4. Your knight is now mine."

"Ha! Bishop to E4! Your queen is mine and you can _suck it!"_

"Oh, very well played."

Dean smirked and leaned in for a victory kiss.

"But since the route is now clear, rook to H8. Checkmate."

Dean scoured his brain for a way out. "Are you… Are you serious? Let me castle, no way you're gonna win."

"I'm afraid your _other_ knight is in the way of that." Cas smirked. "I believe I get a kiss?"

"That's the wager," Dean attempted to grumble. In truth, he could only be secretly pleased that Cas won. It meant he got to pull him in for a long, slow kiss, the kind he used to dream about giving.

Dean still got butterflies when Cas touched his hand, when their fingers brushed against each other. Dean still held his breath when Cas was speaking softly, afraid to miss even a letter. He still blushed when Cas played with his hair, when Cas smoothed down his shirt, when Cas let him fall asleep tangled up with him.

Dean loved him, goddammit.

"Be right back," Dean mumbled, sliding down the box until he was at the bottom.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked, smile in his voice.

"Don't worry about it," Dean grinned up at him, pulling his knife out and beginning to carve.

He made the initials first, then the heart, and smiled at his handiwork. It would take Castiel years to find this, maybe even centuries. The thought made Dean shiver with excitement. Him and Cas, together for centuries.

He pocketed the knife and slid back up, directly into a snuggle.

"Hey, honeybee?" Dean mumbled against Cas's chest a while later, eyes drooping closed.

"Yes, sunshine?"

"I'm real glad everything happened."

Cas smiled, softly running his hands across Dean's back. "That so?"

"Yeah. 'Cause even with the apocalypse n shit, it all led me to here. An' I like here," Dean whispered.

"I like here, too."

"Purgatory."

"Hm?"

"That's where I fell in love wit' ya. Purgatory. Just so ya know."

Castiel kissed Dean's head, letting his lips linger. "I had my suspicions."

"Wha' 'bout you?" he mumbled, eyes closed.

Cas took a moment to think. "They say I was gone the moment I touched your soul in Hell. But I didn't know it at the time. If you're asking when I first _realized_ I love you, Dean Winchester, my answer is the same as yours."

"Th's wha' I meant." Dean's words were slow, slurring. "Always had somethin' 'bout ya, Cas. Seemed t' grow e'ery time I looked at ya. Couldn't hardly stand it."

"Okay, George."

"Shuttit, Lennie." Dean smiled softly, drifting off. "Thanks for jumpin' into this shitty box wit' me. Wouldn't'a survived alone."

"I will always be here for you," Cas whispered.

"Thanks for tha', too." Dean yawned loudly. "I love ya. An' e'ery memory I got wit' ya in it."

"Even the bad ones?"

"Specially the bad ones."

Castiel's throat felt tight, so he wrapped Dean up in his arms. "I love you, too, Dean. And every memory with you in it."

"Even me beatin' ya at Mousetrap?"

Cas snorted. "Especially that one. It's a rare thing, you winning a game against me."

"Though' it wasn't a game? Ya said it was just—"

"Pure luck. And it still is."

Dean snuggled further into Castiel. "Our lives were jus' one big game o' Mousetrap. We fin'lly got caught."

"It's not so bad, 'losing'."

"Is the best," Dean whispered before he finally drifted off to sleep.

Cas glanced around their slightly-decorated box and smiled. "Yeah," he whispered back. "It is."

\---

"Claire."

Claire looked up from where she was reading in the library. "Er, hi."

Charlie motioned for Claire to follow before heading down a hallway.

Claire laid the book face-down, pages open and got out of the comfy chair. "Where are we going?" she called after Charlie.

Charlie ignored her.

They walked into the garage and Charlie tossed her a helmet before starting up one of the motorbikes.

Claire raised an eyebrow at her before sliding on the helmet and getting on behind her.

They peeled out of the garage ridiculously fast, Claire's hair whipping out the bottom of the helmet, the wind bitterly cold on her arms.

Charlie waved at someone off the road, and by the time Claire had turned to look, they were too far off to see.

They pulled up a while later at a bar.

Charlie shut off the motorcycle, offering a hand to help Claire off. They stowed their helmets and walked inside.

"Are we drinking?" Claire asked, looking around the rather dingy bar.

"Charlie!" the barkeeper yelled out. "The usual?"

"Make it two," Charlie responded, finally turning to Claire. "This is where I come when Sam makes me mad."

"A bar?"

"Not really, no." Charlie went over to the jukebox and looked back at the man behind the counter.

"It's 8-4-7, today."

When she punched in those numbers, the jukebox swung open, revealing a long hall.

"See ya later, Matt," Charlie threw over her shoulder before stepping inside.

The door swung shut behind Claire.

"This is insane," Claire said, following Charlie down the hall.

"Found it by luck, really. I was telling Matt that I used to fight a lot, and being stuck in a house now made me snippy and restless. So he showed me this." They rounded a corner, and before them was a giant fighting ring. Charlie shot Claire a grin. "Up for a round or two? Shake some aggression out?"

Claire looked around, wide-eyed, before saying, "Oh. Oh, _hell yeah."_

\---

Charlie threw punches like she did everything else: fully and unashamed. She pulled back at the last second, but not enough that Claire got mad about it. Just enough to leave a small bruise instead of a large knot.

She didn't correct Claire's style. Claire would get hit, take a mental note, and adjust herself. They fought in silence, sweating until both shed their shirts, uncaring and unforgiving.

Claire landed a hit to Charlie's side, quickly following it with a kick that got deflected.

"Don't just fight me," Charlie mumbled, twitching the soaked stray hair out of her eyes. "Fight your demons."

So when Claire landed a hit on Charlie's jaw, it was Sam ignoring her when she walked into the Bunker.

When Charlie landed a hit on Claire's sternum, it was Sam bossing her around.

Claire to Charlie, Castiel for choosing Dean over her.

Charlie to Claire, Michael for destroying her home.

And a stalemate, a punch blocked, was the entire situation.

Claire wiped her cheeks off with the back of her wrapped hands, absently wondering if it was sweat or tears.

One last, quick kick was something deep and ugly inside Claire, a monster unleashed and — yes, those were definitely tears. They were the hot, bitter tears of mourning someone still alive. But, more than that.

They were the tears of never getting to say goodbye.

\---

Claire and Charlie entered the kitchen just after Sam and Maggie.

"Hey," Claire said to Maggie, sitting beside her at the counter. "That my shirt?"

"Yep." Maggie handed Claire her own coffee before going to get a new one.

Sam looked over to Charlie, looking like he wanted to ask where they'd been, but knowing better.

Claire shivered slightly, the cold air having dried their sweat almost too fast. She held the coffee to her face, just like Cas used to, and Sam jerked his head away.

"Um," Sam started, voice breaking. He tried again. "Claire, want to help me with these pancakes?"

Claire looked at the warm stovetop, at Sam's face turned away from her, at the extended olive branch in the room.

"I don't forgive you," Claire told him.

Sam nodded to himself and opened a drawer to find a spatula. He turned around to see Claire already flipping the pancake with the pan.

"Impressive," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Where did you learn that?"

She looked down at the pan, coffee still clutched in her free hand.

"Dean," she said softly.

And wasn't that a strange memory? It played in her head as Sam quietly started on eggs, afraid any noise would break the tentative peace they had formed.

"Donna's kitchen," she said softly. Sam's hand faltered on cracking an egg before she continued. "He was making breakfast for us, and he flipped the pancake like this. And I told him he was a show-off, so he did that stupid grin and asked me if I wanted to learn how. I said yeah."

"I didn't know he visited you all," Sam said, choosing each word carefully.

"Anytime he was in the area, yeah."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, half-hoping she wouldn't hear and they could continue their charade.

"Did he tell you? Before he left?"

"No." Sam let out a sigh. "He didn't tell anyone. Mom called saying he was acting strange and by the time I got there…" Sam trailed off. "I guess Cas figured it out."

Claire wanted to ask why Dean would do that. She wanted to ask why he didn't want to see any of them, why he kept it all a secret, why he wouldn't let them help. She wanted to ask if Sam screamed and cried and drove over the speed limit until he got to the dock, only to find Dean already gone.

She wanted to ask if he was broken inside, if he was angry, if he called Cas to ask for help. If he called Cas again. And again. And again.

She wanted to ask how long it took Sam to realize they were both gone.

If she had been there that night, she would have seen Sam, head in his hands and ass in the sandy mud, sea water dripping from his hair. She would have seen him scream at the ocean, seen him fall apart, seen him try again and again to swim out, only to be forced to turn back.

She'd have seen him find Castiel's phone laying on the dock, with a small goodbye note open on the screen.

If she had been there that night, she would have seen Sam do the exact same things she would have done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Snow (Hey Oh)" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
> 
> "When I sit alone  
> Come get a little known  
> But I need more than myself this time"


	23. Honeybee

"You haven't told me a story in a while, babe," Dean said, smiling lazily at Castiel, head propped in his hand.

"I could say the same of you." Cas watched as Dean moved his body easily within the space, rearranging himself on his side. His clothes flowed in the water around him. He was beautiful. He was so, so beautiful.

Dean reached out for Castiel's hand and brought it to his lips, pressing an easy kiss against it. "You tell stories better than me," Dean told Castiel's hand.

"That's not true. We simply tell stories differently."

"Plus," Dean barrelled on, "you know all of my stories. You rebuilt me, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"Tell me about that."

"About rebuilding you?"

"Yes. Tell me about souls, and your search, and that."

Cas pondered his words for a moment before nodding resolutely. "Very well."

\---

Souls are bright. They are the purest manifestation of a human's innermost being. For example, your soul always has a faint smell of fresh, homemade hamburgers.

_ Wait, woah, hold up, is  _ **_that_ ** _ why when the horseman came— _

Moving on. They sent me with an army into Hell to save you. We searched and scoured, but you were well-hidden. We were down there far longer than anticipated, and I sent my troops back to the surface. There was no need in them facing Hell when we couldn't even locate you.

I turned it into a solo mission.

It wasn't pleasant, of course, but it wasn't torture either. I was in an equal but opposite land from Heaven. It was merely… different.

When I found you, there wasn't much left of who you once were. I knew I needed to put you back together before bringing you to the surface, an action I wouldn't have taken were my army around to witness it.

I believe that is the first unplanned thing I did.

I think they wanted you broken and brought to the surface. The odds of you saying yes would have been virtually one hundred percent. But… I fixed you.

I was in your mind, repairing that damage first. After not too long, you showed up there, as well. You couldn't remember anything, and you set about trying to bother me into humoring you.

Which I, of course, did.

Just so you know, Dean, I do feel a bit bad about keeping this from you. It simply never came up in conversation. You were never meant to remember it, either.

I grew unfortunately fond of you. There were — and I do hope you'll forgive me — a few memories I didn't bother to put back in. Nothing you would miss, mostly bad memories of John.

As we've discussed, time doesn't truly exist as such, and the time we spent together was as infinite as it was short.

Come to think of it, that situation was similar to this one. The difference being, that situation had an exit.

You asked me many things, and I saw many of your memories. I could see which were cherished, and I returned those as soon as I could.

I remember— You might think this dumb. I remember finding the memory of you teaching Sam to dance. Do you remember that? On that overlook, with your boyfriend. I saw that memory, and I asked if you could teach me.

You did.

There were… no bad memories holding you back. No trauma. You were open and free, much like you are now. That was your soul, embodied in your mind. Open and free and easily loving.

However, our time did end. I fixed your body, rid myself from your mind, and returned you to the surface.

You can imagine, I'm sure, my surprise at being greeted by this innocent creature with a knife to the chest. All the memories I tried to keep buried deep under the other ones resurfaced as soon as you did. But I suppose that's what they do. You push them down and they just rise up again.

But I would still see your soul in you, sometimes. Early in the mornings, or when it was just us, or when your guard was down. Your true self would come out, unburdened by difficult times, and I would remember why I fixed you in the first place.

So, if it ever seemed as if I 'jumped the gun', as if I betrayed everything I knew after knowing you for less than a year, know that's not what happened. I have known you eternally, Dean Winchester. I have known you better than I know my own self. Following you was the last in many steps I had taken towards you.

\---

"So did we kiss?"

"Excuse me?"

"In my head. Back then. Did I put the moves on you?"

"No, you did not."

Dean grinned. "So  _ you _ put the moves on  _ me. _ I get it. You sly dog."

Castiel was glad Dean couldn't see his blush. "That's as pertinent as me asking if you ever kissed Benny."

"Not on the mouth."

Castiel opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "I did kiss you once, on the cheek. You didn't miss much."

"Show me."

"Right… Right now?"

"Yeah, Cas. Plant one on me."

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Dean's cheek, as close to his lips as possible without touching them.

Dean chuckled to himself. "No wonder we always wound up eyefucking, man. There was a bit of tension in that kiss."

"Yes well, at the time I panicked."

Dean smiled, caressing Castiel's cheek softly. "So memories."

"Memories."

"What do  _ they _ look like?"

Castiel pursed his lips in thought. "Like seashells," he finally decided.

"Ironic."

"Decidedly."

Dean dragged his thumb over Castiel's cheek absently. "Once I had a siren who looked like you. Sam had to gank it for me. I couldn't do it. The damn thing had my face in its hands, and it was so  _ soft _ and it smelled so much like you…" he trailed off. "You smell like the sky, Cas."

Cas was silent.

"Babe?"

"When Naomi reprogrammed me, she forced me to kill you a thousand times."

Dean's thumb stilled. "What?"

"She did it so I wouldn't have trouble killing the real you, but I still couldn't do it. She made me kill your clones over and over again, until I couldn't feel it anymore, until everything in me was numb."

"Cas honey, if we were still on the surface I would murder her for you."

"I know."

"And it's okay, okay? They weren't really me. You couldn't kill me. Though, hey, maybe you should've because I mean, look at this mess."

Cas smiled slightly. "I like this mess."

"Yeah, me too. Bugger all."

"Bugger all?"

"Yeah, it just kinda popped into my head. I used to love British slang. Do you like it?"

"I do, yes."

"Naomi's a twat," Dean said in all sincerity, and Cas grinned.

"I'm lucky to have you," Cas told him.

"Yeah, but it ain't good lucky," Dean teased back.

"I take it back. We worked hard to get here. This isn't luck."

"Ah, yes, our perfect home, right here in ol' Coffin at the bottom of the ocean." Dean waggled his eyebrows. "I've dreamt of this since I was a little girl."

"Beside me?"

Dean's smirk softened. "Of course, babe. Always beside you."

"Incredible. You dreamt of me without even knowing me. Truly, we must be soulmates."

Dean snorted and pushed Cas's face away, grinning. "Shut up."

"Or perhaps you are a prophet. Quick, what happens next?"

Dean stuck his tongue out at Cas. "Next, I—"

The world spun, Dean's eyes blinking hard.

"Dean?" Cas asked, a mere second before time froze and Dean opened his eyes to see a haggard, worried Sam.

\---

Jack half-heartedly threw ingredients into the bowl, making notes when they either didn't work or —

Well. Didn't work.

There was a knock at the door, and Jack turned to see Sam coming in.

"Hey," Sam said, pulling up a chair by Jack.

"Hello," Jack responded.

"How's it coming along?"

"So-so. The spell is still right, but the ingredients are—" Jack threw in some bay leaves, sighing at the puff of smoke, "not compatible."

"Look, I appreciate you working on this. I know you're not exactly happy with everything that's been going on, but I'm glad I can count on—"

"I'm mad," Jack announced, spinning away from the spell and towards Sam. "I'm very angry and I'm not sure how to handle it."

Sam blinked, eyes wide. "Oh. Um, okay. What are you mad about?"

"Castiel."

Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. Are you mad that he left?"

"Yes! Of course I am! He was supposed to stay here with us and he abandoned us."

"Castiel… he isn't tied to us. He doesn't owe us anything."

"He owes us an  _ explanation." _

"Jack, I understand that you're mad. I was, too. But you can't just—"

Jack put a hand over Sam's mouth, eyes wide as he stared at the bowl. "It's working."

"Mmph?"

"The spell. It's working."

They both stared wide-eyed at the bowl as it began to glow, faintly at first but brighter by the second.

Jack's hand slipped off Sam's mouth.

"Jack."

Jack looked to Sam.

"Go get Charlie. I'll call Rowena."

Jack dashed out of the room as Sam smiled for what felt like the first time in forever.

"We're coming for you, Dean," he whispered.

\---

"Sam," Dean said, "we need to talk."

\---

"Rowena," Sam said into his phone, "it worked."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just incorporate Hello, Honeybee into this fic?  
> Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> Title from "Honeybee" by Steam Powered Giraffes
> 
> "You didn't have to offer your hand  
> Cause since I've kissed it I am at your command  
> But you did  
> Oh, Turpentine erase me whole  
> I don't want to live my life alone  
> I was waiting for you all my life  
> Oh why  
> Set me free, my  
> Honeybee"


	24. A Twist In My Story

"Obviously," Sam responded, smiling in relief. "We barely got to talk last time."

"Did you cut your hair? Wait no it doesn't matter. Look, we can't keep doing this, man."

"Doing what?"

"Meeting up. It's not gonna work and it makes everything harder and you deserve better."

"I… We've only talked once, Dean."

And suddenly Sam's shorter hair clicked into place. "Wait," Dean said slowly, "you're Past Sam."

"Past Sam?"

"Fuck. Yeah, yeah you said this was gonna happen. You've only visited once before, right?"

"Right…"

"Okay. Okay, so, time isn't linear. We've already talked four times now."

Sam watched Dean curiously, before his eyes grew wide. "Oh my gosh. Time isn't _linear!_ That explains all our problems! Oh my god!" Sam got up and started pacing. "If time isn't linear then we'll have to get approximations of where in time we're meeting Dean," Sam rambled on, obviously talking to himself. He finally turned to face Dean. "Tell me everything we've said."

"Sam—"

"I've got to keep us on the same timeline and if time isn't linear that makes it five million times harder, but _you_ know everything that's happened!" Sam pulled out his chair again, sitting down and facing Dean expectantly.

Dean looked at the bags under his eyes, the frizzy hair, the jittery stance.

"No."

Sam stared at him. "What?"

"No. I won't tell you."

"I don't think you understand me, Dean. I need to know in order to save you and Cas, no matter how embarrassing the events may be. You _have_ to tell me."

"No. I don't _have_ to do anything. Sam, look at yourself! You're sacrificing everything for us! We are _fine,_ Sam. We're happy, even! We have our own little place, and we can talk and cuddle and whatever the fuck else as much as we want."

Sam blinked. "You're with Cas?"

"Of course I am, man! How thick-headed do you think I am?"

Sam huffed. "Considering you're impeding your own rescue, I'd say 'pretty damn'." He cleared his throat. "But uh, ya know, congrats. It's about time, really, and I'm so glad you two could talk things out."

"Thanks."

"And I fully expect you two to tell me everything when we get you both out."

"Sam. _No."_

It took all of Sam's self-control not to flip the table.

"We are getting you both out!" Sam yelled, fists clenched threateningly on the edge of the table.

"No, you're not! You're fooling yourselves and you're trying to fool me!" Dean was standing up, motioning around the empty void. "Do you see this? Do you know what this is Sam?"

"It's a _void,_ Dean, and it's your ticket out of—"

"This is my _grave,_ Sam. You keep fucking visiting like it's going to change the fact that _I am gone._ And you can make your little plans and play your little game but you need to man up and pull the plug."

"Do you not want me here or something? Do you want me to just fuck off for eternity?"

"NO! I want you to—" Dean's shoulders dropped, the anger punched out in a sigh. "I want you to be happy. And this ain't it, chief."

"If you want me to be happy then _let me save you!_ You're acting like I don't have a choice in the matter but I do! I didn't HAVE to figure this out!"

"Sam."

"I didn't HAVE to even think about it! I _could have_ fucked off forever but I didn't want to!"

" _Sam._ "

"And you think I'm going to stop trying just because you said so? News flash, Dean! I don't ever listen to authority figur—"

" _SAMUEL!"_

Sam shut his mouth.

"Sam, man. You have to let me go."

"No."

"Look at yourself, Sam! When's the last time you ate an actual meal?"

"It doesn't matter! I'm getting you two out!"

"You have to keep the timeline straight, right? You've gotta do everything just so?"

"I... Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. I need to write it down..."

"You told me, last time, that I tell you everything that's already happened for me."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, here?"

"I'm not gonna tell you anything."

Sam's hands slammed down on the table, his face unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"I'm fucking up the timeline. Permanently."

"WHAT?! Dean, you can't—"

"This is my choice, and I'm choosing for you to move on."

_"You can't choose for me! That's not your decision!"_

"I raised you. I love you. And I'm not letting this happen to you."

Their eyes met in hellish heat, Dean calm and Sam enraged. They stared each other down, neither one wavering.

After what felt like eternity, Sam growled and made a motion behind him. A few more seconds and Sam was gone.

Dean let out a breath and laid his heated head on the cool table, willing away the cold knife that felt lodged in his heart. That wasn't how he wanted it to go. That wasn't how he wanted to lose Sam.

\---

Charlie jumped back when Sam got up so fast his chair toppled. "My phone," he gritted out, hand out.

Charlie tossed it to him from across the room. "Is everything—"

Sam hit a speed-dial and waited for the answer.

"Samuel?"

"Rowena. I need a spell."

\---

Dean stayed firmly in his seat, waiting to phase back into his coffin. Cas would comfort him. It would be okay eventually. Sam would forgive him, Sam would live a long life, Sam would— 

"I'm sorry," came Sam's voice behind him.

Dean jerked his head up in time to see Sam, eyes and hands glowing red. Sam pressed his searing palms against Dean's cheeks, fingers shifting up into hair.

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated before Dean felt his breathing stop.

Dean was tumbling out of his chair, falling to his knees, and Sam followed, hands firm. There was splitting pain and a rush of information and Dean's eyes were rolling back and his lungs were screaming for air and— 

He gasped in a breath as Sam's hands left his cheeks, only to wrap around him tightly.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry," Sam said over and over as Dean tried to focus on something — anything.

"You motherfucker," Dean gasped out, trying to escape Sam's embrace.

"You're not giving up on us," Sam muttered back. "And you can beat me up when we get you out."

"You bastard," Dean choked out, attempting to squirm away from Sam.

"I read your memories. The timeline is on track now."

Dean grabbed at Sam's shirt, a broken noise escaping his throat. "Let me go," he begged.

Dean's eyes finally focused, and he could see Sam quietly bawling into his shoulder. "I c-an't," Sam forced out.

"You deserve better," Dean whispered, head pressed against Sam's, eyes misty.

"I want my brother back," Sam breathed out shakily.

"I'm not coming back," Dean breathed back.

Sam put a hand on Dean's cheek, and Dean flinched.

"You are," Sam told him. "You're coming back."

"Sam, _please._ Let me go."

Sam glanced over his shoulder, sniffling softly. "Time's almost up."

"Go live your life, Sammy."

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Sam. Sam!" Dean looked around from his seat on the floor, finding himself alone. "Dammit, Sammy."

Dean slowly got up and sat in his chair, awaiting his return.

He tried. He really, _really_ tried. Sam just wouldn't listen. Maybe Cas would know what to do. Dean could ask Cas.

He sighed, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn't in the void anymore.

He used the now-hot table to push himself up. "Hello?" he called out to the high-tech room, blinking in the harsh light.

No answer.

"Hello?" Dean tried again, opening the door and stepping out into—

The Bunker.

This was the Bunker.

"Sam?" he tried, baffled.

"Dean?" came Sam's voice from down a hallway.

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

Dean saw Sam and stopped cold.

The toddler ran into the room, smiling wide. "Bean!"

"Sam…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "A Twist in my Story" by Secondhand Serenade
> 
> "So you see  
> This world doesn't matter  
> To me  
> I'd give up all I had just to  
> Breathe  
> The same air as you  
> Til the day that I die.  
> I can't take my eyes off of you"


	25. ocean eyes

The small, child Sam ran up to him and pressed against his legs, holding his arms up high.

Dean picked him up, bewildered.

"Been lookin' for you," Sam told him in all the seriousness a kid could muster.

"You… have?"

"Yeah! We were playin' hide and seek and you hid and I seeked!"

Dean glanced around for anyone else, but it seemed they were alone.

"Yeah? Good job, Sammy."

Sam grinned and squished Dean's face together with his little palms, which had always been code for "I want a kiss now."

Dean gave him a soft kiss and Sam nuzzled into his shoulder, yawning. "Missed ya," Sam mumbled.

Dean looked around the empty, lifeless Bunker. "What's going on?"

Sam sniffled, and Dean felt his shoulder grow damp. "You left me," Sam whined.

"But we were playing hide and seek, right? That's what you said?"

"Where have you been? Why did you leave?" Sam was looking up at him with watery, round eyes.

"I had to," Dean found himself saying.

Sam's bottom lip was trembling. "You didn't even say goodbye."

"Sam—"

"You said it was you and me! You and me against the whole wide world, and you'd never leave me and then you _did."_

"I was protecting you, Sam…"

Sam's little fists had wrapped themselves in Dean's shirt. "No."

"Sam, there was no other way."

Sam shook his head vehemently. "No!"

Dean sighed, readjusting his hold on the kid. "I miss you, okay? And I love you very much. But this is how it's gotta be."

"I'll be good."

"What?"

"If you come back, I _promise_ I'll be good! I'll do what you ask and I'll wash the dishes and I won't even ask for a dog once!"

"It don't work that way, bud."

And Sam was bawling, loud and brash. "Why don't you want me?" he cried.

"Sammy," Dean whispered. "It ain't about you, okay? I'm happy, and I want you to be happy, too."

Sam tugged hard at Dean's shirt. "Then come home!" Sam screamed.

"Sammy—"

"Come home, Bean. Please! I'll hide in my room and you'll never have to see me but just _please, Bean. Come home."_

Dean blinked back some tears and looked at the ceiling, clearing his throat. "Sam," he called out to the empty Bunker, "I know you're doing this, and I want you to know it's a super shitty thing to do."

Sam was hiccupping against his chest, tears still rolling freely. "Y-you said yo-ou'd prot-tect me from the mon-monsters. I'm sca-ared."

And Dean couldn't look at a little kid and say, 'You're old enough to take care of yourself,' so he didn't.

"You p-promised," Sam told him.

"I know."

"You _promised."_

"I'm sorry."

Sam leaned back in Dean's arms, reaching out chubby, shaky hands to smush Dean's face. "Come home," he begged.

Dean kissed his cheeks, kissed some tears away. "I am home," he whispered, eyes screwed shut.

Sam stuck his thumb in his mouth, content to be close to Dean.

"You gonna fall asleep on me?" Dean tried to tease. It came out breathy and sad.

Sam barely nodded his head, already drifting off.

"Want me to tell you a story?"

Sam nodded again.

"There once was a little boy named Sam…"

\---

_Hey, like me!_

Yes, like you. Now shush.

Sam was walking along the sidewalk one day when he spotted his pet squirrel um... James, up in a tree.

Sam was really happy, because he thought he had lost his beloved pet. He climbed into the tree and spent the day with James, chatting with him and telling him all about his friends.

Night fell, and Sam left to go home.

The next day, Sam thought James might like some snacks, so he went to the bakery and bought a bag of roasted pecans. The baker talked with him and even gave him his recipe for apple pie! So Sam took the recipe and the pecans and went to the tree again. He told James all about the baker and the shop and the recipe.

Night fell again, and Sam told James goodnight and ran along home.

The next day was cold, so Sam thought James might like a small sweater. He went to the old lady that lived down the lane and asked if she had such a sweater. Lucky for him, she did! While he was there, she taught him how to knit. He ran along to the tree and helped James put the sweater on before showing him all he had learned that day.

When night fell, Sam went home again.

The next day, however, when he got to the tree, the city had put a fence around it! How could he get to James now?!

Sam sat down beside the fence and cried, because he didn't know what to do.

"What's wrong?" the baker asked him, dusting flour off his apron.

"I can't get to my pet squirrel anymore," Sam told him, wiping his eyes off.

The old lady came up to see what all the commotion was about.

"You know," the old lady said, "he seems pretty happy up there."

"Yeah," the butcher agreed. "Why, I bet he's even got himself another squirrel friend."

"But what about me?" Sam asked. "What am I supposed to do without my squirrel?"

"You can bake with me!" the butcher told him.

"And you can knit with me!" the old lady said.

\---

Dean blinked a few times, staring at Sam, whose eyes were closed on his shoulder.

"And Sam didn't feel so lonely," Dean whispered, "because he knew he had family waiting for him. And James didn't worry, either, because he knew Sam was in good hands. And though they never saw each other again—" Dean's voice hitched and he cleared his throat, "they always, always remembered each other. The end."

Sam snored slightly and Dean smiled. He was sure he had done this exact thing countless times before.

It was still and quiet, and Dean held Sam tight as he waited for whatever this was to end. 

Sam yawned on his shoulder a while later, sitting up in his lap. "Dean?" he asked.

"I'm here, bud."

"Are you really gonna leave?"

"I have to."

"Oh."

Sam was quiet for a long time, staring off into the distance, eyebrows furrowed.

Dean nudged him gently. "Whatcha thinkin' bout, Sammy?"

"A fifth dimension," he said determinedly. "Not of sight and sound but mind."

"What?"

"With boundaries of imagination."

"Sam—"

"Not quite." The toddler grinned at him, dark and maniacal, and it twisted grotesquely into Michael. "Welcome to the Twilight Zone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "ocean eyes" by Billie Eilish
> 
> "No fair  
> You really know how to make me cry  
> When you give me those  
> Ocean eyes.  
> I'm scared"


	26. Whatever I Do

Dean jumped, trying to push Michael off his lap.

"Easy there, Dean. What's the hurry? You don't have anywhere to be."

"Get the _fuck_ off of me!"

"Are you uncomfortable? As uncomfortable as being stuck in a freezer? I hope so."

Dean pushed frantically against Michael's chest, to no avail.

"Did you think you had escaped me? That you would never see me again and you would live out your glory days with Castiel?"

Dean punched him in the jaw, and Michael laughed.

"Pathetic. You know, I really thought the Sam thing would work. I mean, who could say no to those precious baby eyes?"

"You _fucking bastard!"_

"Come now, you didn't think it would all be this easy, did you?" Michael studied Dean's face, grinning. "Oh my. You did."

"If you don't get off me I swear I'll—"

"You'll what? Trap me? That worked out so well last time. Please, do try again. It would be entertaining."

" _Michael—"_

"Bean," Michael said, pouting sarcastically.

"I will _destroy you,"_ Dean growled, eyes crackling with fury.

"Actually, Dean, I'm going to destroy _you,"_ Michael said calmly.

"You can't kill me in here," Dean snarled.

"Oh, honey. I'm not going to kill you." Michael grinned in his face. "That would be too easy." With a swift movement, Michael swung himself off of Dean and headed down a hallway. "I'd suggest you follow," he taunted over his shoulder.

Dean gritted his teeth and followed, around many twists and turns.

Michael opened a supply closet, leaving the door open behind them. He opened a few boxes and made overdramatic thinking noises, pawing through them. "Ah," he finally announced.

Dean glanced over from where he was looking for a weapon, looking at the small object between Michael's fingers. "Seashells?"

"Hm? Oh, no. This is the first time Sam called you Dad. Precious, I gather."

With a clenched fist, the shell crumbled to dust.

Dean's eyes opened wide as he felt a hollowness in his chest. The knife he had found clattered to the ground. "What did—"

"Oh, and here's how you met Charlie." Michael crushed the shell to dust in his fist, letting the fragments fall onto the floor.

Dean reached out, eyes wide and heart hurting for some reason he couldn't remember. "Wait—"

Michael's face was pressed into Dean's, eyes filled with pure hatred, free hand grabbing his shirt and hauling him closer. "You thought you'd have this. You thought you would lock me in this box and there would be no consequences for anyone but you. Well, here they are." He held up another shell. "Here's Sam playing soccer." Crush.

"WAIT—" 

"Here's Castiel's smile." Smash.

 _"PLEASE_ , NO!"

"Here," Michael held up a small, spiral shell, "is Castiel."

"Michael... Michael _please_ —"

"Oh, now you want to bargain? To beg? Don't move. One move and he's gone forever from you."

"What... What do you want from me? What do I need to do?" Dean begged. He knew he was begging, knew he had fallen to his knees.

"Oh, Dean. Look around you. You've stuck me in a box on the bottom of the ocean. You've effectively removed any chips you had that interested me. I don't want anything from you." He pinched the shell, cracking it slightly.

Dean reached up, wrapped his hands around Michael's wrist. "If you break that, I won't be suffering anymore. I won't remember."

"But you will. You'll feel that _ache_ deep inside you. You'll feel something missing from your life and have no way to find it." Michael opened his hand and dropped the shell, and Dean was quick to catch it. He cradled it in his hands, examining blue swirls with the madness of a desperate man.

"I'm done underestimating you humans. Your brother says he's going to get you out — well. I believe him. I am getting out as well, and the only thing _stopping_ me is your idiotic complacency in Castiel." Michael held up a small snail shell. "Here's how you met your precious _angel_."

In a flurry of shattered remnants, the shell was gone.

Dean pressed the fragile shell still in his hands to his chest, eyes wide. "You can't—"

"I can. Here's Castiel rebelling for you." Smash.

"Michael," Dean pleaded, voice soft with desperation. His knees hurt, everything _hurt_ and there were tears welling up in his eyes. "Michael _please_. I lov—"

"Here's Castiel saying he loves you." Dust scattered to the wind.

Dean could feel it, deep in his heart. The splintering of the warm cover of Castiel's love.

Everything was so, so cold.

"Michael," Dean begged, voice breaking.

"Beg me," Michael crooned, caressing Dean's face with his fingers, clenching them around his jaw, his throat. " _Beg. Me."_

Dean didn't even reach up to pry Michael's hands loose. He kept his own hands pressed to his chest, hiding Castiel's memory from this hell. "Michael, _please._ I will do _anything._ What do you want? I'll give it to you. Just don't take him. Please, Michael **_please don't take—"_ **

"Dean."

Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, pleading.

Michael forced Dean's hands open, pressed his fingers between Dean's, leaned down to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against it. "There is nothing I want from you," Michael whispered.

And with a mere twitch, the tiny shell was destroyed.

Dean let out a harsh, choked noise as he watched the debris fall.

Why was it so cold in here?

Michael smirked down at him. "Why are you weeping, Dean?"

Dean sucked in a shuddering breath, hands held out as if they were covered in blood. "I don't... I don't know."

"What are you missing?"

Tears rolled down Dean's cheeks. "I don't know."

"Was it important?"

Dean sobbed outright, clutching the few particles in his hands as he nodded his head. His body folded in on itself until he was pressing his forehead to the ground.

Michael tilted Dean's head up with his foot, grinning at him. "How are you so sure?"

"Everything... Everything _hurts_."

"Hurts how?"

Dean merely shook his head, pulling away to press his head against the floor again, bawling for something he couldn't even remember. "I'm sorry," he forced out between the sobs that wracked his body. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"What are you sorry for?"

The cries increased in force, past the point of yelling, past the point of screaming. " _I don't know!_ "

Michael grinned openly at him, crunching a few remaining shell fragments under his heel. "Dean?"

Dean looked up at a toddler Sam.

"Why are you crying?"

Dean tried to wrack his brain, but he couldn't stop shaking long enough. "I don't know," he whispered to Sam, covering his face again.

Sam wiggled between Dean's arms, pushing his hands away from his face. "Bean," Sam said. "Are you gonna stay with me?"

And there was nothing Dean wanted more, _nothing_ Dean desired other than what his brother desired. Dean pulled him into his lap, holding him tight and bending over him, cocooning him against the world. "Yes, yes of course yes, I miss you, I miss you I miss you," Dean babbled quietly, rocking them both back and forth.

"You're gonna let me save you?"

Dean nodded, sobbing slightly.

"Bean."

Dean opened his eyes long enough to see Sam smushing his own face. "You get a kish now," Sam said between his squished cheeks.

Dean smiled slightly, taking a shuddering breath. "How did you ever get so damn innocent in this world?"

Sam puckered his lips like a fish and pressed a quick kiss against Dean's mouth. "Dad'sh like you," he said, face still squished.

Dean blinked in surprise. "Did… Did you just call me Dad?"

Sam gave him a cryptic smile. "Come home, okay?"

And Dean opened his eyes to endless black water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Please forgive me for whatever I do  
> When I don't remember you"


	27. Iris

Angels were animals.

Now, they were an old and ancient species, sophisticated and incorporeal, but still just animals.

They had gone through their stages, their evolution, their infancy. Though they could communicate mentally, though they could fly and affect the world, they still shared basal, animalistic traits.

Angels, as a species, did what many other animals do.

See, elephants have always been known to mourn their dead or lost. The entire herd would trumpet their horns in a somber melody, and pause a moment at what essentially becomes the grave of the lost member.

Wolves let up a howl that is carried by the pack, louder and louder until grief is the only thing they can hear.

Chimpanzees often stay with their dead for a time, the closest of the chimps often refusing contact with its own friends.

And angels, as the animals they are, mourn as a species.

It had been centuries since an angel lost a mate. The last angel to lose its lover was Aladriel, shortly after the Watchers and Titans were forced back to Heaven or eradicated, respectively. Aladriel had snuck down to see Agafya, day after day, even as she grew old and wrinkled, as humans do.

On the day her soul departed, Aladriel let out a howl from his innermost being. The angels in Heaven, and those hiding on Earth, found a similar howl torn out of them from a time long before.

The Nephilim that had managed to hide — those born of normal size and stature — found that they began crying for things they couldn't name, found themselves sobbing and screaming into their empty caves (for secrecy and hiding were the lives of the illegal nephilim).

Which is why, on January 24th, 2021, exactly two years after Dean and Castiel had boarded their sinking ship, Jack Kline, a known nephilim, collapsed on the floor in an underground kitchen.

There were other people in the room, of course. Claire, who had just finished making some joke; Maggie, who was smiling quietly and taking Claire in; Donna, who was busy making breakfast; and Sam, who had just tried and failed to flip a pancake.

Sam was the first to rush over, to cradle Jack's head as he sobbed loudly and screamed, clutching desperately to Sam.

When Sam asked what was wrong, Jack merely shook his head and sobbed harder.

In Heaven, Naomi felt a cry force itself out of her, unbidden, until she and the few others in Heaven were howling at the sky.

In Hell, all movement stopped as the horrific howls of angels reverberated across the realm. The demons wished to cheer, for their enemy was hurt, but the noise clawed its way inside, and all stayed silent.

A hurricane formed over the Pacific Ocean, but never made it to land. It swirled above a specific spot for days, deadly and quiet and horrified.

Because it didn't take long for Castiel to figure out what had happened, for Dean to jerk away when Cas tried to hold him, for Cas to use a hovering hand to knock him out quietly, for Castiel to open his mouth and let out that old, ancient scream.

And, somewhere far away, Castiel's grief pierced through a veil, until an unnamed entity was grinding its teeth as angel after angel awoke, sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> "When everything's made to be broken  
> I just want you to know who I am"


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes I very purposefully did not put a song for this one)

It was quiet in the Bunker.

It wasn't a bated sort of quiet, the kind of quiet that was waiting for something terrible to happen.

Nor was it a deathly quiet, as if the Bunker had rid itself of every soul contained therein.

No, it was quiet in the Bunker, because nobody had anything left to say.

Words had tripped from Jack's lips, words that hadn't been spoken on Earth in eons. He spoke — no. He _screamed_ mostly of sorrow so profound it presented itself in ancient dialects, syllables that rounded the walls and cowered in cracks; inflections that caused the very air to tremble. His mouth split at the seams as his eyes burned gold.

When Claire's well-meaning hand connected with his shoulder, wings cracked out of him.

It was as if whatever had caused him to collapse was clinging desperately to the angel part of him, was dragging it to the forefront to scream at it, to beg to be heard.

Jack wished he understood.

Jody had carried Claire to the table and patched up her heavily-bleeding arms. _Razor sharp,_ Claire had thought, _and soft as sin._

Jody had to remove a feather from Claire's face, lodged firmly into her temple.

Maggie had stared at nothing, backed into a corner of the room. Of all the words spewing from Jack's mouth without his consent, she was the only one to understand.

 _I loved him!_ they tore into her eardrums. _O god!_ **_O soul!_ **

And she wanted to say _I know, I know how you feel. I watched my brother die, I watched him suffer. I know, I know, I know._

The words wrapped around her head, inside her skull, and she stepped towards craggy wings until arms wrapped around her.

They felt like her brother, like her mother, like her aunt, like her grandma, like everyone she had ever lost.

She turned her head into Donna's shoulder and screamed.

And try as Charlie might, she could not tear Sam away from where he held Jack tightly, paper-thin red lines growing into gouges across his body. Wings stuttered against Sam, and he merely held on tighter.

 _"Sam!"_ Charlie had yelled. _"Let him go!"_

But Sam rocked Jack in his lap, head buried in his shoulder as he sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, _"Not him too! Please,_ **_please,_ ** _God, don't take him too…"_

Donna looked to Charlie, and Charlie looked to Jody.

The Bunker was silent, but almost everyone was screaming.

\---

Dean floated inside a coffin at the bottom of the ocean, where the deepest, darkest creatures lived.

His eyes were closed, his breathing regular. Hair was suspended around his head, and his clothes didn't move at all.

He was sleeping.

Castiel had made sure of that.

Castiel's hand had shook against Dean's head as he knocked him out amid screams of _Where am I? Who are you?!_ **_Get off me!_ **

And then Castiel released a scream of his own.

He didn't even know he could still make those sounds. No angel had in thousands of years. It boiled its way out of him, until his mouth was open wide, spewing earthquakes and lightning and terror and sorrow so profound it needed a new name.

He cried grace.

There was a place in his chest that hurt, that ached every time he glanced at Dean, floating silently beside him.

He wanted to scream, again, again, until Dean woke up and remembered him.

_Dean had smiled at him, once long ago. It was all gums and cheeks, with eyes shining even so deep underwater._

_"Did you know you're my favorite?" he had said._

_"Your favorite what?"_

_Dean had shrugged. "My favorite everything."_

"It's so cold down here," Castiel whispered to Dean's unhearing ears. "Was it always this cold?"

There was no response, and Castiel squeezed his own eyes shut.

"You're my favorite," he told Dean.

Silence.

"My favorite everything."

More silence.

"I need you," Castiel whispered, voice breaking.

Castiel raised his hand to wake Dean up, to face reality.

His thumb caressed Dean's lips instead.

 _Smile, please,_ he thought. _One more time. Let me remember it. Let me memorize it. I didn't know I was supposed to, and now I think I'm too late._

He waited for a response.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Till Sunbeams Find You

Jody plopped down beside Donna, letting out a long breath.

There was so much she could say, so much they could talk about. The three younger adults had fallen asleep in Sam's bed, Sam himself in a chair beside them, his red-rimmed eyes keeping watch.

Last Jody checked, he had slumped forward in his chair, face planted firmly in the foot of the bed.

"Maggie's birthday is next week," Jody said instead.

Donna smiled to herself. "It's 4am," she countered. "This can wait til tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow, then."

"Want some bourbon?"

Jody shook her head, pulling her feet into the overstuffed couch with her. "I was thinking tea."

Donna busied herself with tea as Jody leaned her head back, eyes closed. She could feel the tension behind her eyes, and she consciously relaxed her shoulders.

"Here," Donna said, handing Jody a warm mug of tea.

"Thank you," Jody responded, holding it to her face. "So."

"So."

"Maggie's birthday."

Donna sipped at her own mug thoughtfully. "She'll be twenty-four."

"Where did the time go? That's how old Claire is, too."

"Oh, ya know. It goes where everything lost goes."

"And where's that?"

"Somewhere ya can't get it." Donna smiled down at her mug, thinking. "Maggie doesn't like big things, does she? We could do a picnic."

Jody shrugged. "You seem a lot closer to her than I am. I'd ask her, but…"

"Yeah, good call." Donna nodded to herself. "I think she'd like a picnic."

"Then we'll do a picnic."

There was the silence again, pressing in from all sides.

"What are we gonna make?" Donna said suddenly, pushing against the silence.

"Does she like healthy stuff or junk stuff?"

"Healthy, I think. But she seems to love certain junk things, too. Especially Twinkies."

"Then we'll do a mix of stuff. Then everyone can have something to eat."

Jody squeezed her eyes shut at the lull.

"What colors?" she exclaimed.

"She really likes green," Donna responded just as quickly.

"And we'll have music!"

"Lots of music!"

"Let's put some on now!"

There was a record player and some records, and Jody grabbed the first one she saw. There was the familiar crackling before the music began, slow and warbling.

The women looked around the darkened, quiet Bunker.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

Donna's hand was firm in Jody's.

When the record ended, the silence pressed in like lovers long gone, like parents and sons and husbands, and the two women let it.

\---

When Maggie woke up, one side of her was cold.

It felt like the dead of night. Or maybe it was afternoon. It was impossible to tell, and Sam snoring away at the foot of the bed didn't help.

Jack tightened his arms around her in his sleep, the tell-tale soft brush of underfeathers against her arms. These were soft. These were nice.

She ran a hand through his hair absently, other hand already reaching out for Claire.

There was just a pillow smushed against her own back.

Maggie turned to feel to the edge of the bed and found it empty. She tried to wiggle out from under Jack's wings and arms, but he grumbled and pulled her closer.

She smiled fondly and rolled her eyes, replacing herself with the pillow, leaving Jack holding onto it as she trodded out of the room silently.

She passed the library, where Jody and Donna had passed out on the couch together. She passed room after room, hall after hall until she finally found Claire.

Maggie slid into the passenger seat beside her.

Neither said anything.

Maggie popped open the glove box, thumbing through old cassettes.

"Wanna listen?" Claire asked, voice scratchy.

Maggie wordlessly held out a tape, and Claire pushed it into the slot.

_Is this the real life?_

_Is this just fantasy?_

Claire sniffed. "Quite the day, huh?"

"Let's not."

Claire turned surprised eyes to Maggie. "What?"

"I mean…" Maggie shrugged. "Life's shit, ya know? But we're in a vintage car, and we're listening to Queen, and you're wearing my shirt."

Claire rested her palms against the steering wheel, worn from decades of use, and dusty from months of disuse. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Ice cream and old cartoons."

A smile tugged at Claire's lips. "You want to have a sleepover?"

"On like… the _entire_ other side of the Bunker, sure. It's been over ten years since I've gotten to do anything just because, and I'm sure it's been a while for you, too."

Claire touched the bandages over her face absently. "I've never had a real sleepover."

"Then c'mon. We can swap stories later. Tonight, let's forget yesterday."

\---

"You think Jack would let us bedazzle his wings?" Maggie asked around a mouthful of popcorn.

"Without a doubt," Claire responded, flipping through potential shows on their pirate server. "What do you wanna watch?"

Maggie watched Claire cycle through some shows and movies. "I haven't even heard of half of these."

"Well there's — I mean, it depends on how you're feeling. If you want wholesome, there's always Queer Eye and any number of cartoons. Moomin has kinda become this giant thing. And then you've got the action shows like I dunno… Yeah, here, Kim Possible and Adventure Time."

"Wait, Kim Possible is still a thing here?"

"Uh, no, no it is not. Unfortunately."

"Oh, heck. Shego was my first real crush."

Claire snorted. "Yeah, same." She typed in a different name. "If you like the Kim/Shego dynamic, there's an ongoing show we could watch. It's a kind of disgusting level of wholesome, though."

"Can we skip the wholesome episodes?"

"Yeah, for sure." Claire started up She-Ra. "Catra is bae in this."

After two episodes, Maggie turned an amused face to Claire. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the type for this show."

"I'm a slut for queerbaiting," Claire deadpanned.

"Queerbaiting?"

"Yeah, ya know. When a show like, _heavily implies_ that two people are gay but then they're not?"

"Oh my god there's a word."

Claire patted Maggie's shoulder. "I have much to teach you, young grasshopper."

Maggie rolled her eyes fondly and looked back at the TV. "Wait — is this a _prom_ episode?"

Claire gasped. "This one's my favorite!"

They both stared wide-eyed at the TV for a moment before saying simultaneously, "I never went to prom."

Both blinked in surprise and their eyes met.

"What, really?" Maggie asked. "How were you not every girl's first choice?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Okay well, I _did_ have an apocalypse in my world."

"I— okay, yeah, that's fair." Claire shrugged. "I jumped around too much after Mom died. Never stayed anywhere long enough to go to prom."

Maggie offered up a smile. "We should have a Bunker prom."

Claire had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. "Oh my gosh. With all of the network? Holy shit, _yes."_

Maggie grinned wide. "Who do you think Sam would take? Donna?"

"I hear he actually has a thing with Rowena!"

"What about Jody?"

Claire threw her hands up. "I always thought she would've been great with Bobby!"

" _Mary_ and Bobby!"

"What about Jack?"

Maggie laughed. "He would ask both of us, no doubt."

"Good thing we can Fortnite dance with three people!"

"Fortnite?"

Claire hung her head and sighed. "Oh my gosh. We're not sleeping tonight."

"I think we've slept enough for a few days, anyway."

"Yeah." Claire looked off into the distance, worrying her bottom lip. "Hey Maggie?"

"Yes?"

"I know last night is taboo for a while, and so is everything else for tonight, but sometime I wanna hear about what your life was like."

"Really? Why?"

Claire blinked in surprise. "Because I like you."

Without warning, there was a deep rumble, as if the Bunker itself was growling.

Claire and Maggie both stilled, looking around.

"What was that?" Claire whispered.

"No idea," Maggie responded, glancing around the room for weapons.

She handed Claire a machete and they both dismounted the bed quietly, padding to the hallway.

 _This way,_ Claire motioned before heading towards an open door. Maggie followed, taking careful note of the sickly red glow emanating from it.

They were so focused on the door that they didn't hear someone creeping up behind them.

Their mouths were covered before they could scream, and a low _shush_ sounded by their ears.

Maggie turned her head to see Charlie staring determinedly at the door.

Her hands slid off their mouths and all three crept forward.

The Bunker groaned again, a somber sound that came from everywhere at once.

Charlie peered inside the room before nodding at the two girls, stepping inside and lowering her gun. Maggie and Claire followed her, machetes falling to their sides.

"What the hell," Claire asked quietly.

"I don't know," Charlie answered, staring up.

Maggie's eyes widened at the sight before her. An inky black void, nebulizing itself in the room, small red dots shining like stars.

"Should we tell Sam?" Claire asked, feet shuffling in worry.

Charlie touched the void curiously, hand coming back dripping with black. "I don't think it's a problem just yet," she finally said. "I just think this is phase two."

 _"This_ is phase two?" Maggie asked incredulously, staring at the piece of space. "How many phases are there?"

"Three, sometimes four. Depends on where you are and who you ask."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire asked, confusion quickly turning to frustration.

"It means there are monsters out there that can hear us, even here. So maybe there are three phases. Maybe four. Maybe nineteen. The point is, if we want Dean and Castiel back, we can't talk about it."

"Then how do _you_ know the plan?"

Charlie sighed, turning to face them. "If I told you that, what's to keep something from using that against us?"

Maggie stepped closer to Claire, unconsciously seeking comfort. "Are there really monsters out there that are _that_ omniscient?"

Charlie stared directly into her eyes. "Yes."

"What are they?"

Charlie shook her head. "Using its name draws its attention. Ask Sam sometime. He has a special way of communicating this sort of thing." She glanced back to the void. "Anyway, I think we can leave this here safely. Thanks for being brave."

"I have so many questions," Claire said.

Charlie mussed her hair as she passed. "Unfortunate."

Claire huffed after she had gone. "I swear," she told Maggie, "this is the most secretive group of people in the whole damn world."

"Yeah," Maggie agreed. "Should we—"

"Already on it," Claire said, running into the hall. "Charlie!" she yelled out. "Wanna come watch some movies?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by Ella Fitzgerald
> 
> "Stars fading  
> But I linger on, dear"


	30. Here Comes The Night

Dean's eyes snapped open.

His nails dug hard into the metal beneath him, eyes staring unseeing into the darkness. There was pressure on all sides of him, like weights trying to peel back his skin and crawl inside.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked softly.

He felt more than heard a shuffle beside him, a sort of ripple, a give and take of the very matter around him. "Wrong?" someone asked, surprise lacing their voice, as if they hadn't expected to be addressed at all.

"Yes," Dean responded, unmoving. "What did I do wrong?"

"I'm not— I don't understand," the voice said, something like hope tinging it.

"Why am I here?" Dean stressed, voice growing more nervous by the question.

There was a silence, calculated and contemplative. "Because you are a good man, Dean Winchester." There was a hand against his cheek.

Dean flinched, shoulders coming up to ears, nails digging into palms. "I can change," he begged quietly.

"What?"

"I hesitated. I know. I _know._ It won't happen again. I just — I need time to —" Dean shuddered, and the hand left his face.

"Dean?"

"Alastair, _please._ Don't leave me here."

"Alastair?" the voice asked, incredulous, horrified.

 _"Elo,"_ Dean begged, corrected, " _elo,_ please."

"I'm not him," the voice whispered shakily. "I am not Alastair. This is not Hell."

Dean looked over to where the voice came from, tears leaking and jaw set. "Then I will kill you," he vowed, voice hitching, breath shuddering. "I will escape this."

"I am not your enemy," the voice begged.

"But I am yours. This is a test, and I will win, demon."

"My name is Castiel, and I am an—"

"I didn't ask."

"Dean—"

The hand brushed his face once more, and he jerked away, body pressed too hard into the metal box. _"Get off of me!"_

The hand yanked back. "I'm sorry—"

"And do not speak my name. We are not _friends."_

"We were, once," the voice breathed, so low Dean was sure he wasn't meant to hear.

"I will hurt you," Dean promised again, hands shaking.

"Yes," the voice said. "This time, I believe you will."

\---

The Macarena woke Sam up.

It was Jack's doing; he was sure of it. He fished his cellphone out of his pocket, not bothering to move from where he was smushed into something soft.

"'Llo," Sam mumbled, yawning.

"Good evenin' to ye, too, Samuel," Rowena's voice carried through the phone.

Sam made some noise of acknowledgement, beginning to fall back asleep.

_"Samuel."_

"I'm here, I'm here," Sam said, forcing his eyes open. It was dark and fluffy. "What's uh… what's up?"

"I got a rather worryin' voicemail from ye yesterday. I called back as soon as I could."

"Worrying…. voicemail…" Sam repeated, struggling to put two and two together.

"Are ye alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam responded automatically, not thinking. He closed his eyes again.

"It was somethin' about Jack. Ye sounded terrified, Samuel."

"Jack," Sam mumbled back.

Jack made some sound somewhere above him, and the fluffiness against his face moved some. Sam yawned.

"Jack's here," Sam told Rowena.

"I get the distinct feelin' I should show up there in person," Rowena said, frown evident in her voice.

"You gonna want one pancake or two?"

Rowena sighed. "Let me talk to literally anyone else."

"Mmmkay. Jack," Sam said, trying to hold the phone out and just running into a wall of feathers. "Phone's for you." Sam gave up and put the phone on speaker, dropping it in the covers and planting his face back into the foot of the bed, instantly falling asleep.

Jack yawned. "This is Jack," he said, snuggling farther into his pillow, repositioning his wings over Sam.

"Jack," Rowena said. "Is Sam alright?"

"No."

"What's wrong?" Rowena stressed each syllable.

Jack yawned again. "Emotional stuff."

Rowena let out a string of curses. "Will any o' ye give me a straight answer?! What _happened_ last night?!"

Jack was quiet a moment, eyebrows furrowed. "I think Dean died," Jack finally said.

Rowena was silent a long time. "That's not possible," she finally said.

"I felt it. Inside. Like Castiel was yelling through me."

Rowena sucked in a breath. "Oh, _A Mhaighdean..."_ she whispered.

"Are you coming over?"

"I… Yes. I'll be there soon. Please, for the love o' God, stay put until then."

"Mkay. You gonna want one pancake or two?"

\---

When Rowena knocked on the door, it was Jody who answered.

"Can I help you?" Jody asked, eyebrow raised.

Rowena eyed her wrinkled pajama pants. "Not likely," she responded, giving Jody a terse smile. "I'm here to help Sam and Jack. It seems somethin' happened here last night, but no one will tell me what."

Jody wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Ah, Rowena?"

"Who else?"

Jody rubbed the bridge of her nose and held the door open wider, letting her in. "Sam's told us about you."

"Yes. And, pray tell, where is that lumberin' lumberjack?"

"Still asleep, I think." Jody closed the door behind Rowena and leaned against it, yawning slightly. "We all had a pretty rough night. I barely got him patched up, what with all the — well. Anyway. Glad you're here."

Rowena sat her bag down and glanced around the Bunker. "It's a _mess,_ " she accused.

"Yeah well, Sam has always been a bit of a handf—"

"The _Bunker._ When is the last time any of ye _cleaned_ around here?"

"We've been busy."

Rowena huffed and waved her hand. "I'll find a spell for this later. For now, tell me what happened." 

Jody frowned. "I don't really know. Everything was fine. We were all in the kitchen, Charlie had made some joke, and everyone was laughing. I mean, even Sam was smiling, and Lord knows he doesn't do _that_ a lot these days."

Rowena's lips twitched down minutely.

"And then just — I don't know. Jack collapsed on the floor. I go to help him, but Sam beats me there, and Jack is _screaming_ in words I've never heard before, and Claire reaches out a hand and next thing I know, _poof._ Wings."

Rowena's eyebrows shot up. " _Wings?"_

"Yeah, and razor sharp, too. Cut Claire up pretty bad, cut Sam up worse. And Sam wouldn't hardly let go of Jack long enough for me to do anything about it. He was still bleeding when he herded all the kids into his room to watch over them. He's… He was shook up pretty bad. And Jack doesn't look too great, either."

"And let me guess: Samuel is taking a wee nap under those very wings right now, yes? And they are, miraculously, soft?"

"Last I checked."

"Lead me to him."

Jody shrugged and led the way, grabbing a coffee mug off a table as she passed. "Do you know what happened?" Jody asked, taking turn after turn.

"I don't know very much, I'm afraid. Just the basics. I know what happened, but not _why."_

"Well, what happened?"

"Angels are… fickle things. Very stubborn. But, they're still animals at heart, and they mourn. It seems to me that Castiel let out a mournin' call, and the angels picked it up. Jack felt it worse because he's a nephilim. It created feedback in him. His angel half screamed, his human half felt sorrow, so his angel half screamed again, and on and on." Rowena looked around the dusty halls. "It's actually a good thing Sam managed to calm him down. Jack could have torn himself into nothin' but molecules."

Jody stopped in the hallway, staring down into her cooling coffee. "So," she began, "does that mean Dean is dead?"

"Ye lot never do read the fine print, do ye? Dean cannot die. Not there. Not ever. He is stuck for eternity."

"Then why—"

"I don't know." She turned her head to the nearest door, behind which she could hear snoring. "But I intend to find out."

Rowena opened the door onto Sam having crawled onto the foot of the bed, half-covered by wings. It was Jack that was snoring, face smushed into a pillow and one foot lodged firmly in Sam's side.

"How long have they been asleep?" Rowena asked, glancing around the room.

"Two days or so."

Rowena turned to Jody slowly, eyes wide. "Two days and none of ye thought to _call me?!"_

"They needed the rest. Sam's been running himself ragged, especially lately."

"What's so special about lately?"

Jody frowned. "Charlie said they couldn't lock onto Dean anymore, so his plan is slipping right through his fingers."

"Winchesters," Rowena grumbled, making her way over to Jack. "Jack. Jack, sweetie. Wake up."

Jack opened his eyes blearily, staring up at her. "Hello," he said sleepily.

"Hello, Jack. Can you do me a favor?"

"Mmm."

"Please lift your wings off of Sam for a bit."

Jack shrugged his wings up awkwardly, spreading them out over the top of the bed.

Rowena whispered to Jack, "Thank ye for takin' care of him."

Sam woke up slowly, looking around in a daze. "Rowena?" he asked confusedly.

"Good evenin', Samuel."

Sam sat up, rubbing his head. "How long've you been here?"

"Not too long. It took me a bit to get over here since I called."

Sam nodded absently, looking around. "Jack's okay," he noticed aloud.

"And ye've got dried blood all over ye. But no wounds, it seems. Angels are an odd bunch, I'll say."

Sam looked at his phone and jumped. "Fuck almighty! How long have we been asleep?"

Rowena looked pointedly to Jody, who told him, "Two days."

Sam gaped at her. "I have never. _Never._ Slept for more than—"

"Four hours, I'm sure," Rowena cut him off. "But ye can thank those feathery beasts over there for that. I imagine Jack will remain half-asleep until we find a way to put those back on the plane they came from."

"'M awake," Jack mumbled, pushing himself up with a lot of effort.

"The lot of ye, I swear," Rowena cursed under her breath. "I expect a full report on what happened since the last time I was here, Samuel." She eyed him, and the rust smeared across his face. "But later. Perhaps, for now, we should all eat?"

Jack perked up at that, looking brightly at Rowena. "Pancakes?"

She schooled her smile. "I could go for a pancake or two, yes."

\---

Castiel was an angel of the Lord.

But, goddammit, he was not _soft._ He was a commander, a soldier. His breath tasted like gunpowder when he got angry. His fingers tapped on his sides when he got impatient, playing imaginary explosives.

And, just now, his teeth grit as Dean pushed against every square inch of the box, one by one.

"You can't get out," he ground out.

"Yeah? Well you can kiss my balls, dickface." Dean scratched aimlessly at the hinges. "Who made this shit show? Was it you, Alastair?"

"Do I even have to say it again?"

Dean grunted. "Right. You're 'not Alastair'. Got it. You're an 'angel'." Dean rolled his eyes. "Tell me something then, Allie. If angels exist, then why does bad shit always happen, huh? If there's a _god,_ why doesn't he come down and smite the ever-loving fuck out of you?"

Castiel grabbed Dean's wrist as it passed over his face. "Because God doesn't care," Castiel told him, holding on despite the struggle. "Please stop. You're being unreasonable."

"Wantin' to get out of this coffin with you is unreasonable?"

"Quite."

"Let me go."

"Are you going to behave yourself?"

Dean twisted his wrist, trying to free himself. "Let. Me. Go."

Castiel hesitated, before sighing and releasing him. "I don't want to upset you, Dean. We are not enemies."

"We sure as hell ain't friends, either," Dean grumbled, going back to pushing at the walls. "Where even are we?"

"Bottom of the ocean, I'm afraid."

"I don't remember shit. Everything is all mixed up in my head. But you already knew that, huh? Bet you did it. Bet we've had this conversation before."

"And why would I have done that?"

"So you can keep torturin' me, over and over, always knowin' exactly how I'm gonna react and plannin' accordingly. That's what your kind do. That's what _I_ was supposed to be doin', too, but I guess I fucked up somewhere along the way." Dean gave a fruitless kick at the lid of the box, giving up his search. "That's me, can't even be a good enough fuckin' _demon."_

Castiel felt his chest tighten and held out a hand, resting it softly on Dean's cheek. "That's because you should never have had to be a demon."

 _"Stop_ **_touching_ ** _me!!!"_ Dean yelled, shoving Castiel away. "What is your fucking _problem?!"_

Castiel pressed his hands tightly against his own sides. "I'm sorry, I—"

"I don't _care!_ I don't fucking _care_ about your damn excuses!"

"It won't happen again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Elo', btw, is Enochian for 'God'
> 
> Title taken from "Here Comes The Night" by DJ Snake ft Mr. Hudson
> 
> "There's no light, no light in the sky  
> And it gets so cold when she leaves my side  
> Maybe she's the light, the light in my eyes  
> 'Cause everything looks old and tired when she leaves my side"


	31. That is That (and this is this)

Sam sat still as Charlie carefully washed the blood off his face.

"Really, Charles, I can do this myself," Sam complained, fidgeting on his barstool.

"Gotta make sure you don't have any head injuries."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes as Charlie cleaned around them.

"Also phase two started while you were sleeping."

Sam's eyes snapped open, earning himself a lot of soap. "Oh, oh _fuck fuck fuck,"_ Sam chanted, turning on the faucet and sticking his head under it. "Are you sure?" he yelled above the noise of the water.

"Completely. The girls found the portal. It's still charging up."

"Not like we can use it, anyway." Sam sighed and reached blindly for a towel, drying his face. "Ah, um, what did you tell them?"

"That if they had any questions, they should ask you."

"Wha— _Charlie!"_

She stuck a finger into his chest. "You need to let all these people help. We _cannot_ do this alone."

"We did _just fine_ before. This is a dangerous plan and there's no need—"

"Shut up and _listen_ to yourself, Sam!"

Sam's jaw tensed as he looked anywhere but Charlie's face.

"What's the real problem, huh? Because I'm helping you. Rowena is helping you. _Jack_ is helping you. This isn't about danger and you know it. Why can't Maggie or Claire help, hm? I get that you cut people out of information. That's whatever. But you don't have a single, _valid_ reason why Maggie and Claire and Donna and Jody can't—"

"Donna and Maggie are too much like Dean."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Donna I get. How is _Maggie_ too much like Dean?"

Sam shook his head. "You didn't see her, back in your world. Monsters murdered almost her entire group, and she _still_ followed us back in for the chance of getting what was left to a better life. Maggie's a leader. She's brave and smart, and exceptionally kind. I know you probably don't think Dean was very kind but… I don't think anyone knew him like I did."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "These aren't good enough excuses, Sam. Even if you just can't _bear_ to see Donna and Maggie mixed up in this, what about Jody, huh? What about Claire? They're both badasses that we could really stand to have on our team."

"Jody was kind of our mom when uh, Mom wasn't here. I don't want her getting hurt."

"And what's your excuse for Claire, then?"

Sam gritted his teeth and tossed the balled-up towel into a corner. "I really wish they'd all leave. We could visit them instead. It's dangerous here."

"What about Claire?"

"And I wouldn't have to juggle so many social interactions. And the plan wouldn't be so damned complicated."

"Claire, Sam."

"If we could just get a fucking _reading_ on Dean, maybe we could figure out what happened with Jack in the kitchen."

Charlie pursed her lips and nodded to herself. "Alright. I see how it's gonna be. You wanna do this all yourself, right?"

Sam sighed. "Right. It's not that I don't like them, I just don't need them _here._ I thought we could handle it, but the kitchen incident just proves that we can't. Claire got hurt. Like, _seriously_ hurt. We can't have that."

"Cool. Cool cool cool." She rubbed her hands across her jeans, antiseptic and soap coming off. "Good luck with the computers then."

"What?"

"I said I quit."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Charlie—"

"No, shut up. I get it. Really, I do. But this is ridiculous. Of _course_ it's dangerous! Everything is dangerous! That _soap_ is dangerous, as I'm sure your eyes can attest to!" She huffed. "But more than that. You need to stop making other people's decisions for them. They want to be here? Let them be here. They want to help? _Let them help."_

"Charles—"

"And you know what else, Sam? If Dean wants to stay in a box with his angel, then _let him stay in the fucking box."_

They stared each other down. "Charlie."

"Sam."

"He's my brother."

"Yeah? Thought I was your sister. Thought Jack was your kid. Guess family really does end in blood, huh?"

The door slammed behind her.

Sam was quiet for a long time, staring at the dusty door and thinking of nothing at all.

He padded silently to his room, pulling on his work boots and a jacket.

It was cold outside.

He turned on an engine that hadn't been turned on in months (as far as he knew), and drove. Just fucking drove.

And maybe he should've told someone.

Fuck, he should've told someone.

God, the sunlight lasted so long. When was the last time he had been outside for more than just a run or an errand?

He should call someone. One of them.

He sent a text at a gas station, short, sweet, and to Donna.

He drove on through the night.

\---

"Where did he go?"

Donna shrugged. "Doesn't say."

"When will he be back?"

"It just says in a day or two."

Jody cursed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "This fucking man, I swear."

Claire and Maggie watched detachedly as the older adults paced, until finally Claire touched Maggie's arm gently and left the room.

Maggie waited a minute, then followed her.

"I think I know where he went," Claire told her in hushed tones. "And I'm going, too."

"What?"

"Alone. Nothing personal, I promise. I'll be back soon."

Maggie glanced around the hallway, frowning. "Will you text or call or something?"

"Hey," Claire said, giving her a sly grin. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Maggie shot her an unamused glare.

Claire's smile faltered. "Yeah. I will. Just… buy me some time, so the mom squad doesn't follow?"

"Of course. Be safe, Claire."

"Always am."

\---

Sam took off his socks, then his shoes. He hadn't said a word since he left the Bunker. Dean's car was parked on a grassy patch, just over the hill.

Bargaining, Sam had told himself. He was stuck in _bargaining._

"Fuck you," he told the ocean.

But, really, he never quite got past anger.

 _"Fuck you!"_ he told Dean.

He had just kept shoving it down to be dealt with later.

He hurled a rock into the water.

It was later.

 _"Everything!"_ Sam screamed. _"I relied on you for_ ** _everything!_** What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do? Huh, Dean? What am I supposed to do?!" Tears stung his eyes. _"Tell me what I'm supposed to do!"_

He picked up every large rock, every log, and threw them as far and as hard as he could. "Your daughter is just _fucking_ like you! She's _your_ kid, Dean! _So come back and take fucking care of her!"_

Sam kicked at the water, droplets splashing onto his face, his cheeks, his lips. "You _left_ me here! You _motherfucker!_ You _bastard!_ You left me here with your old life and your kids and your _room_ , your room that just sits empty at the end of the damn hallway!"

The ocean shushed him softly, and he just kept screaming, face red and sand sticking to his tears. "I slept in your stupid fucking bed, because it smelled like _you_ and it smelled like _home_ and you've been gone two fucking years and it doesn't smell like _anything_ anymore!"

Sam sat heavily down in the sand, head in his hands. "You fucking asshole," he told the unhearing ocean. "I can't even fucking visit you anymore." He pulled at his own hair, stringy from the car ride. "It was you and me, Dean. You and me against the world. _Goddammit!"_

And Sam was sobbing.

He was a kid again. A kid sitting on the pavement outside, sniffling about a scraped knee. And Dean had come over, crouched down and smiled at him before patching him up gently.

The sand beside him shifted, and someone sat down.

Sam sniffed and looked up to see Claire's blurry face.

"Hey," she said.

"You tracked me?" Sam asked, voice breaking still.

"No. No, I think we just think a lot alike." She looked out over the ocean. "I never went to a beach. I think I hate them."

"Me, too." They sat in silence for a long time, Sam's breath slowing to a gentle shudder.

Claire didn't say anything, didn't even really move. Just stared out at the tide.

"I wish I hated him," Sam found himself saying.

"Me, too."

"I wish I could just forget all of this and move on."

Claire stared down at her hands, frowning. "Don't forget it. Any of it."

"I thought you of all people would—"

"It sucks majorly, I know. Losing people close to you. Especially when… Especially when they're not actually _gone._ Because there's a bit of comfort in death, right? That sort of finality? Where you can just look back and say, 'Oh, well, Mom is in a better place now. There's nothing I can do.' But this? This isn't… This isn't death. It's not a funeral. It's… worse."

"Just like your dad, right?"

"Right."

And Sam wanted so badly to ignore his own hurt, wanted so badly to just not be _alone,_ that he said, softly, "Will you tell me about it?"

Claire nodded, disjointed and awkward. "He wasn't gone. He was never really gone until he was _really_ gone. And then I still had Castiel walking around in a clone of him, and it was so— dammit, do you _know_ how hard it is to move on when your dead father comes to visit you? When you can see his face but it's not— it's not him, right? He's not going to sing you another lullaby. He's not going to give you a hug when you make a good grade. He's not going to ground you for acting out. He's just a fucking stone-faced angelic tax collector. It's not him." Claire took a shivering breath. "But it's his face. And it's his voice, kinda. And sometimes it still acts a bit like him, and for half a second you forget that your dad is dead, because he's standing right there in front of you. And you want everything to be okay again, and you think it is, but then the veil lifts and it's all fucked ten ways to Tuesday again. But you can't forget. Because if you forget… then there's nothing left of him."

Sam shook his head, eyes shining in the moonlight. "How did you not _hate_ him?"

"I did. God, I hated Castiel for so long. I still remember what it felt like, when I was Castiel. Or maybe Castiel was me." She shook her head. "It was a nightmare. Like static inside your lungs, but everything is blinding light. Like, really blinding, like staring at the sun for years, ten inches from its surface. And you're a puppet."

"What changed?"

Claire gave Sam a small smile before looking back out at the waves. "He tried."

"You lost three dads."

"Four parents."

They both stared out at the ocean, imagining the waves to be the heartbeats of those they had lost.

"I lost four parents," Sam told her, barely louder than a breath. "Bobby, and Dad, and Mom, and Ellen."

"Ellen?"

"Ellen Harvelle. You would've…" Sam glanced at Claire. "You would've loved her. Her and Jo both. And they would've loved you, too." Sam hung his head low. "I still dream about them," he said, so quiet he sounded like waves himself.

Claire stared firmly out at the ocean, fingers digging into the sand. "Five."

"I'm not… following."

"You lost Dean, too, Sam. You lost five parents."

And for once, Sam couldn't find the courage to say, 'I didn't lose Dean.'

Sam and Claire watched the moon rise sullenly over the horizon, casting strange reflections on the water's surface.

"What do you want from me?" Sam finally whispered.

"The same thing I wanted from Castiel. I want you to try."

Sam was quiet. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I'm… I'm a shitty parent." Sam dragged his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"Why?" she asked. She didn't ask like she was going to argue about it, was going to reassure him that he was okay.

Claire asked like she wanted to hear him admit it.

And Sam looked over at her with red-rimmed eyes. "Because you're… you're _Dean's_ kid."

She met his eyes levelly.

"And I can't… I can't just…" Sam took a shuddering breath, and Claire watched oceans fall from his eyes. "I can't lose another part of him," he finally whispered.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

And Claire's voice was busted, broken beyond repair as she said, "I just want a fucking family again."

And Sam looked at her, and looked at the ocean, and back at the tears, and back at the water.

 _One more piece,_ he thought.

Sam pulled Claire into a tight hug, feeling a part of himself breaking, but another part healing.

"Okay," he relented, holding her sobbing form. "Okay. We're family, Claire. You're my family. I love you. Is that what you want to hear? I love you."

Claire nodded her head, bawling into Sam's shirt.

"You and me and Jack, right? And Jody and Donna and Charlie, and Maggie, and Bobby and Mom. That's a lot of us, Claire, and we all gotta stick together, okay?" He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"I'll always be here for you," Claire whispered to Sam. "I'll always love you."

Had Dean been witness to all of this, he would have smiled and asked Sam where the sudden bonding time had come from, but the answer would have been simple:

Sam cried into her hair, grasping her like she was the last bit of air in the universe, like an older brother had once grasped him upon finding out he was still alive. "Us against the world," he told her.

It had come from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse
> 
> "The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?  
> In your head, in your mouth, in your soul  
> And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old  
> Well I don't know, I don't know  
> I don't know, I hope so"


	32. Lullabies

Claire had always enjoyed thrift shopping with Dean.

He was good at it. He said, sometimes, when he was little, he'd go into thrift shops just to buy things to resell. He'd make enough money that way to last him and Sam until their dad got back.

She knew it was a dream. Sorta. She knew it in the way that she knew gas powers a car, or that a circuit controls the lights in a house. But when she would turn the key in the ignition, or flip the switch, she didn't think about all the different things that happened.

So she knew it was a dream, and that didn't change anything at all.

"Bear," Dean said, picking up an old vinyl. "Check it out."

Claire took it gently from him, the letters on it not making any sense. But she knew what it said all the same. "Live from Folsom Prison."

"One of the best albums of all time."

"Never heard of it."

Dean snatched it from her, fake-offended. "I'm getting it then. I can't expect you to grow up into a good person without hearing Folsom Prison Blues."

She grinned at him. "I promise to complain the entire time."

Dean guarded the record against his chest, gasping in mock shock. "Johnny Cash is gonna come back and haunt you." He paused. "On second thought, yes. Please do that."

Claire went back to perusing the thrift shop, vaguely aware of things that shouldn't have been there. A busted TV. A river rock. A tawny brown feather. "Oh, hey," she said, eyes landing on a bookshelf. "I finished _Sirens of Titan._  Give me something new, scrub."

"Hmm," Dean hummed, leaning down to read the titles of the books. "Whatcha feelin'?"

"Something not as lame."

He looked back at her, grinning. "You know you loved that book."

"Maybe. What else you got?"

Dean pulled out a few different books, shuffling them in his arms until he was forced to sit everything onto a table. "I thiiiinnnnk," he drawled, yanking one out of the stack, "this one." He held out a tattered paperback.

" _Wuthering Heights,"_ she read aloud. "A heterosexual romance. Thaaaaaanks."

Dean snorted. "Just trust me on this."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes and grabbed the book. "When it sucks, expect me to call you at three in the morning. You don't get to sleep if it sucks."

He shot her a grin. "I'm not gonna get to sleep anyway."

She figured out what he meant that night.

Dreams are often made of memories, as this one was. She remembered sobbing, and texting Dean.

 _Oh my god I'm bawling tag your shit my dude,_ she texted.

The walls of the Bunker knew what Dean did. He had looked blearily over from his bed, checked his phone, and grinned.

 _Was it the line?_ he had texted back.

 **Claire:** It was the line

 **Dean:** :)

 **Claire:** I fucking hate you, call me

And Dean had snuck outside the Bunker to call her.

Of course, Claire, in her dreams, wasn't aware of that. In her dreams, Dean was sitting beside her outside Donna's house, talking about the book. There was stubble on his face, and his eyes were brighter than she really remembered.

"I knew it would get ya," he told her, leaning back. They were on the roof now, watching the stars.

"I want you to know that Heathcliff and Catherine are both bitch-ass hoes that were toxic as fuck."

"Obviously."

"And Heathcliff didn't deserve as resonant a line as that."

"It's always the bad guys, ain't it?"

And Claire flopped back to look at the sky.

She wanted to just keep living in the altered memory, to talk about taking forms and driving people mad, about Jimmy and Castiel. To repeat the past and maybe just stay in it, stuck in this loop forever.

"He's doing his best," Dean told her, mind refusing to stay quiet.

There were too many stars in the night sky. No crickets chirped, no car horns sounded. There was nothing, really, but her and Dean.

"He says he's gonna save you," she told him.

"He's Sam," Dean responded, as if that was a response, as if that was the ultimate answer.

"Do you miss me?"

And Claire didn't know the answer, so neither did Dean.

He shifted beside her, and she felt the dream shift to another memory, a new one. Her head was laid on his arm, and it was cold outside.

She knew this.

"Orion," he told her, pointing up at a long line of straight stars. It wasn't Orion, but it was, in that moment. "Most kids, they learn the big dipper first. I couldn't pick that one out until I was twenty. But Orion — Orion I could always find."

Claire saw Dean's face in the stars. "You used to tell me stories," she told him, "about the stars, and what they meant. That's why we came up here. It was my favorite thing."

"Do you know the story of Orion?"

She looked again at Dean's face, permanent in the cosmos, and closed her eyes. "Tell me."

And dreams are dreams are dreams, and she stared at Dean in a grassy field.

"Hello, Artemis," he said to Claire.

And yes, yes she was Claire. But she was Artemis as well. "Hello, Orion," she told Dean, and it only made sense as she tapped her bow against his. "You're going hunting today?"

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You know I'm the best hunter in the land, Art. Wanna tag along?"

And of course she did, because the sun was warm and the grass swayed against her calves. "Don't let the other gods hear you," she warned him. "You know how they feel about shit talk like that."

"Artemis, Claire, _Bear,"_ Dean said, "I'd kill every monster on this earth were it to keep you safe."

"Dean," she said, "you can't."

"I'm the best there is, Bear. Of course I can."

And the sky rumbled, and a face Artemis had never seen was beside them, attached to a formless body.

There was messy hair and a beard, and a certain skittish demeanor. "That's… That's not the plan. That's _really_ not the plan."

The earth jolted, and Orion was on his knees and grasping at his head.

There were thunderclouds and lightning, and the earth jolted a second time.

Before she could stop him, Dean ran into the sea.

"No," Claire said in disbelief. She felt she knew this, somehow. Somewhere far away in her head. "No!"

And she climbed the stairway to heaven, three steps at a time, bow slapping against her back. "Apollo!" she yelled out, and Sam turned to her.

"Artemis."

"Sam," she said, "something happened to Orion."

"It's Michael," Apollo said, pointing far, far down into the sea at a black dot. "He's after Dean."

And Claire strung her bow, pulled back, and let fly. She would save him. She _had_ to save him.

But the ocean was closer, and the face wasn't that of Michael.

"Sam," she said, hand covering her mouth as Orion's blood marred the water. "Oh my god. What have I done?" She turned to him, wide-eyed. "Bring him back."

"I can't."

"You're Apollo! You're a god! _Bring him back!"_

"I can't!"

And Artemis turned her tear-stained face to the sky and wept until the stars showed Dean's face.

She could see him in the stars, at least.

She'd always have the stars.

"Claire," Sam said gently.

\---

Claire opened her eyes to sunrise and the smell of food.

"Bad dream?" he asked, handing her a donut and some coffee.

She touched her face and was shocked to find tears there. "I… yeah. Yeah, the worst dream, actually." She took a sip of coffee and winced at the heat. "It started out nice, though."

"What was it about?"

And she could tell him that it was about rooftops at night, about thrift shopping with Dean, about not feeling so alone again.

"Orion," she finally told him.

"Mm. That's a sad story."

"Yeah," she whispered. "It is."

"Dean used to tell me that story late at night, when we were waiting up on Dad to come home. He was always — He's exceptionally good at stories, isn't he?"

Claire looked at him in surprise. "He did the same thing with me."

"Doesn't surprise me. I think it always did him some good, having someone other than me or himself to take care of." Sam put the Impala into gear, pulling out of the gas station. "We're still just a bit out. Wanna put on some music?"

"I really wish I could play my own."

Sam shrugged. "There's a cassette in the glove box that has an aux cord attached. You totally can."

Claire blinked in surprise. "Wait… that's a thing?"

"That's a thing," Sam responded, laughing softly. "Just try it."

Claire popped the glove box open and rummaged around for the legendary cassette, but something stopped her hand.

Folsom Prison was staring back at her, shoved in the back of the compartment.

She could just pull that one out, close her eyes, and pretend she was riding back with Dean. She could remain stuck in the time loop for as long as she wanted.

Claire took a deep breath, grabbed the tape, and put it neatly back in its rightful place in the collection.

As it settled easily into the cardboard box, she felt just a little of the weight on her shoulders leave.

The aux tape was easy to find, and she put it on, plugging the cord into her phone. "What kind of music do you wanna listen to?" she asked Sam.

"You're DJ. You get to choose."

So Claire hit shuffle and let the world choose.

"How does this thing work?" she asked, looking idly at the cord that ran from the radio slot.

"Oh, it's a cross between an elephant and a rhino."

Claire turned sharply to him, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

Sam levelled a serious look at her. "'El-if-i-no."

Claire's face didn't move for a moment before it dropped into her hands, shoulders shaking. "Oh my god that's terrible."

"Thank you!"

She looked at Sam's wide grin and couldn't help but smile, too.

Then her face fell.

_"Holy shit we forgot my motorcycle!"_

Sam snorted and jerked his thumb towards the back seat. "I _do_ have some tricks up my sleeve, kid."

She turned around to stare at the Barbie-sized motorcycle in the back. "Don't call me kid," she muttered in awe.

"What do you want me to call you then?"

And she examined him before saying, "Bear."

"Bear?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean used to call me Bear." She felt a bit like she was giving a part of him away, but she supposed that was only fair.

"Bear," Sam said.

Claire let out a breath from somewhere deep in her lungs.

"Like… like a grizzly bear or a teddy bear?" Sam teased.

"Oh, fuck right off," Claire grumbled with no real malice in it.

"Alright, Teddy Bear."

She playfully punched his arm and Sam laughed, and this. This was the Sam Claire remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask: yes, this is the _actual_ story of Orion. I didn't make it up, but I also didn't know the story until I wrote this chapter xD
> 
> Title taken from "Lullabies" by All Time Low
> 
> "Sing me to sleep, I'll see you in my dreams, waiting to say, "I miss you. I'm so sorry."  
> Forever's never seemed so long as when you're not around  
> It's like a piece of me is missing."


	33. Vacancy Signs

It all made sense again.

Sam was driving as Claire slept, face smushed firmly against the passenger window, and it all made sense again.

Even if only for a few hours.

His head was clear. There was no buzzing anxiety, no worry, no intense mathematical gymnastics. There was the sound of familiar tires heading home, with Claire asleep in the passenger seat.

In the Impala, in their soft little bubble, Sam was at peace for a few moments.

The sun rose on the horizon.

\---

Dean was suffocating.

Not really, of course. God forbid someone truly ever die in Hell. But there was water coursing in and out of his lungs, and there was a silent presence beside him that refused to be ignored.

Goddamn Alastair, or whoever this bitch was.

Dean was starting to accept the fact that he was likely stuck here indefinitely, under some new torture or another. Stuck in some small box with a demon. See who breaks first.

Dean was absolutely, _absolutely_ terrified it would be him.

But he couldn't _fight_ anything. There was no attacker, no aggressor. He would be _damned_ (pun intended) if he struck first. Because what if that was the test? What if this was all truly a test of loyalty, and Dean was simply to wait until Alastair told him he'd done well?

And then he'd be let out, back to the rack, knife in his hand and someone else's soul before him.

_Did he want out? Did he want to return to that?_

Dean didn't know anymore.

\---

"Hello, Colonel Sanders," Maggie said as the dodo bird flapped around at the foot of her bed.

Jack pushed into her room, straddling a rolly chair. "Hi, Maggie!"

"Hey, Jack. You after the bird?"

"Yeah, he keeps running away from me." Jack shrugged, wings bouncing. "I'm sure it's these bad boys."

Maggie snorted, tossing her book aside. "He thinks you're after his territory!" She lunged to grab Colonel Sanders, catching him easily. "That's Jack!" she told him. "That's your dad!"

Jack threw his arms out dramatically. "My son!"

Colonel Sanders squabbled and flapped uselessly.

"That is no way to talk to your father!" Maggie scolded.

"It's okay, son. I forgive you."

Colonel Sanders, as a response, laid an egg.

Neither moved for a moment.

"Uh."

"That's an egg," Jack said, wings fluffing in surprise.

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Jack squinted. "So is Colonel Sanders a girl?"

Maggie turned the bird to face her, frowning. "Are you a girl or a guy? One cluck for girl, two for guy, three for fuck you."

Colonel Sanders clucked twice in alarm, and Maggie nodded.

Jack was busy looking down at his own hands. "Can _I_ lay an egg?"

Maggie looked up at him. "Definitely."

The Bunker rumbled loudly, and the room grew still.

Jack's wings slowly bristled up, widening their span slightly. "I don't like that noise," he said.

"How much longer do you think?"

He shook his head. "A week, max. The portal should be good to go by next Wednesday."

"And then phase two."

"And then phase two," he agreed. He used his heels to drag the chair closer to the bed.

"What _is_ phase two, exactly? I mean, I know what Sam said but… Charlie said there was more to it."

Jack shrugged one shoulder, then the other. "Well, it's mostly just preparation for phase three. Trial runs, resource gathering, stuff like that."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "So you can't tell me either, huh?"

"Afraid not. Though, I would like to. It's just not something that can be discussed aloud. At least… not here."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. "I mean it, Mags. It listens."

"Well that's not vaguely terrifying."

Colonel Sanders hopped into Jack's lap, settling in comfortably. "I guess he was just trying to get some privacy."

"There's an egg on my bed. What do I do with this?"

"Do we have an incubator?"

Maggie stretched to a drawer and pulled out the map they had been making. "We never finished this, so I don't know."

Jack looked sternly down at Sanders. "Go sit on your child," he told him.

The bird didn't move.

Jack sighed loudly. "Are all children this stubborn?"

"I'm gonna go with _yes._ Maybe Donna knows where one is?"

"Good idea!" Jack scooted out the door to the hallway. "Keep that child warm!"

Maggie cradled the still-damp egg in her hands. "On it!"

There was a soft knock on the wall by her door, and Maggie looked up.

"Hey," Claire said. "I'm back. Sam wants to go on a picn— Um… is that an egg?"

\---

_"Fine!"_

Castiel jumped slightly. It had been deathly quiet for ages. "I… what?"

"Go ahead. You wanna say something? Then say something. I'm giving you your damn chance so make it count, demon."

"My name is Castiel."

_"Castiel."_

"And I am an angel of the L—" Castiel cut himself off. No, not the Lord. "I'm an angel," he said, decisively.

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"Why are you here?"

Castiel looked at Dean in the darkness. "Because I fell."

"Why did you fall?"

Castiel memorized his face once more, though it was haggard and worn. "Because it was all that I could do."

"How did we get here?"

"You chose this."

"I would never choose this! Why would I ever _choose_ this?"

Cas went to tap Dean's head lightly before stopping himself. "You have an archangel trapped inside you. You are in here to spare the world his wrath."

Dean snorted. "I think I'd remember something like that."

"He stole your memories."

"Why would he do that?"

Castiel frowned. "To torture me, I think."

"Why would you care?"

"Because I have followed you into the dark more times than I dare recall."

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"How long have we been here?"

"You can only ask once."

"I'll ask as many times as I damn well please! How long have we been here?!"

Castiel levelled a glare at him. "I will only _answer_ once."

"Why?!"

"Because we are stuck down here _forever,_ Dean Winchester. It will do nothing more than drive you to insanity if you attempt to keep time." How funny, how wonderful a word that _forever_ used to be.

"Then why answer at all?"

Cas sighed, looking at the carved stars. "Because I know you, Dean."

"Not following."

"Sam."

And Dean reeled back, eyes wide. "You know about Sam?"

"Of course I do. We've known each other for over a decade. Sam was my best friend."

Dean's eyes searched the darkness. "So I'm waiting to ask how long we've been here, and if I wait long enough, then…" Dean gulped. "Oh."

"You've caught on."

Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unseeing. "Sam's gonna die alone, ain't he?"

"I don't know."

"You say you're an _angel!_ How could you not know?"

"I can't see beyond this box."

“So terrible things could be lurking out there in the dark and you’d have no idea.”

“Oh, they most certainly are. But I can promise you that none of them can get to us.”

“Don’t make promises to me. I don’t want them.”

_“Castiel,” he had once said. “Cas. I want you to promise me something, okay?”_

_“Anything.”_

_And Dean fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt, pressed his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder. “Promise me you will always love me?”_

_And Castiel smiled softly at him, running a hand through his hair. “I promise you. No matter what happens, or what you do, or think, or say, I will always love you.”_

_Dean nodded, eyes closed. It was a lot to take in. Everything he had ever wanted to hear, all there, in one sentence. It was more than he could handle. “I promise I’ll always love you, too,” he whispered._

“Okay,” Castiel said.

Dean thumped his head back against the metal, eyes shutting tight. "I left Sam all alone."

"That's not true." Castiel's hands twitched at his sides, aching to have, to hold. "You left him with family. He will be alright."

 _"I'm_ his family." Dean's head thumped back again and his mouth opened in a gasp, eyes wide. "Everything fucking hurts."

"Your body is just acclimating to the—"

Dean sucked in air through his teeth, hands going to his head. "What the fuck—"

"No…"

"Stop!"

"It's not me!"

Dean hissed, knees curling up and hitting the metal lid. "I shoulda known, fucking demons always—" he cut himself off with a grunt, "— always fucking—"

The pain stopped, and he opened his eyes to a table for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: Posting schedule is changing to Mondays AND Thursdays! Yeehaw!
> 
> Title taken from "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> "If Heaven and Hell decide  
> that they both are satisfied,  
> illuminate the no's  
> on their vacancy signs,  
> if there's no one beside you  
> when your soul embarks,  
> then I will follow you into the dark."


	34. Silly Thoughts

"Get your ass in _gear,_ Rowena!" Charlie yelled over her shoulder, trying to keep up with the trio.

"I'm tryin' to, but _somebody_ didn't inform me I should be wearin' pants!"

Charlie rolled her eyes, grinning, before pausing on top of a rock. "Hold up then." She pulled off her backpack and rummaged through it until she found a pair of shorts and tossed them at Rowena. "These should work."

Rowena caught them uneasily. "Er…"

"Oh!" Charlie tossed a shirt at her. "That, too!"

Rowena looked down at her black dress, then around at the forest. "It's not really my style, dearie."

Charlie shrugged her backpack back on. "Your choice, but hiking in a dress sounds like hell. I'd decide quick, too, because Sam and the sheriffs aren't too far behind."

Charlie jumped down on the other side of the rock, and Rowena cursed under her breath before quickly changing into the clothes, stuffing her dress in her large purse.

There was laughter behind her, and she turned back to see Sam, Jody, and Donna rounding the corner, grinning.

Sam saw her and promptly tripped over a tree root.

Donna jogged over to Rowena while Jody tried to help Sam up, laughing as she did.

"Heya! Looks like ya finally got in the hikin' spirit, eh?"

"Ye could say that." Rowena looked at the large rock and frowned. "How much farther did Samuel say it was, again?"

"Oh, just a skip and a jump, really. We'll be there in no time." Donna looked back at Sam and Jody. "Poor giant can't see all the way down to his feet."

Rowena chuckled softly. "Aye, that's what happened. Well, why don't ye go first, and I'll follow?"

\---

Maggie walked easily between Jack and Claire, taking in the scenery.

"Jack, why don't you fly on up there and roost?" Claire teased him.

Jack stretched out a wing across Maggie and behind Claire, soft downy feathers tickling their necks. "I'm too busy keeping you two from getting sunburned."

"Ah, what a brave fellow, this Icarus," Maggie told Claire, gesturing as if she were on a stage. "He would melt his own wings if only his two friends did not pinken in the sun."

Jack grinned at them, removing his wing. "Don't come crying to me when you get sunburnt then."

Maggie scrunched her nose at Claire. "You're a bad influence on him."

Claire pointed. "Uh, no. I'm the _best_ influence on him." She thrust her arms out, doing her best impression of Maggie. "See and hearken, all who labor under the Heavens! Listen to the boy's mannerisms, his colloquialisms, his humor! This ruddy youth hath learned to speaketh with the times!"

Maggie tossed her hand upon her brow. "But at what cost, dear audience? The innocence! Hath it gone to the wind? Doth he know too well now the ways of this world?" She grabbed Jack's hands entreatingly. "Oh, dearest of dears, do speak unto mine ears. Answer me this: doth thou still haveth love for the cocoa?"

Jack grasped desperately at Maggie's hands, eyes wide and serious as he said, "Mine love for the cocoa is overshadowed not by the grain, nor drink, nor still. Mine love for the cocoa is deepened just by my love for—" Jack paused, trying to think up a rhyme, "the pickles of dill."

Maggie took in a dramatic gasp, smile twitching at her lips. "My love!" she cried out. "Not the aubergine!"

And the confused look on Jack's face was enough to make Claire lean against a tree, tears running down her face as she laughed uncontrollably.

Maggie, eyes shining brightly, entreated thusly, "Fair maiden! Is it thee? Art thou the handsome lad by the name of Dill who has taken mine love for his own?"

Claire gasped in air, still chuckling, and responded, "Aye, tis I! His blood runneth in my very veins!"

Jack, still confused but still very on-board with the game, pulled Maggie back to him. "My dear!" he told her. "This jealousy hath no rightful place between us! Perhaps — indeed, perhaps this be the only way — we share the fair maiden by the name of Dill who has stolen me from thee?"

"Alas, dearest of canaries, I would — if only… oh dear." Maggie turned from him, addressing the forest itself. "If only she hadn't stolen mine heart as well!" She turned quickly back to Jack. "We fight for her. Here and now. We fight for her hand, and her—" Maggie gave Claire a wink, "aubergine."

And Claire was out for the count again, sitting on the leaf litter and completely useless for anything but laughter.

"Arm thyself!" Jack called out, tossing Maggie a branch.

She caught it easily, smirking. "Feel free to surrender at any time!" she told him, assuming a fighting stance. "Perhaps we shall invite thee to our wedding."

Jack laughed and lunged with a tree branch of his own, and Maggie parried.

"Not bad, mine heart," Jack told her, circling slowly. "But I'm afraid I must assuage you of the notion that you shall win. For it is true love that binds my heart to not only thee but also thine."

"Thine? Mine what?" Maggie questioned, slicing at him with the branch.

He jumped back, grinning. "Thine aubergine."

And Maggie was having a very, _very_ difficult time not dissolving into laughter. "True love binds you to mine aubergine?" she asked incredulously. "Doth thou even knowest what an aubergine be?"

"A blue fruit, used mostly in dishes such as the ratatouille, from France," he informed her, spinning and rolling to behind her.

"Aye, but therein lies the rub!" she squeaked, running away from his attack. "The aubergine be so much more than a mild-mannered fruit!"

Jack ran after her, chest heaving. "What then, my sunrise, doth an aubergine hide from me? What be its foul and unsavory hidden life?" He lunged at her and she blocked with her branch.

They locked weapons and eyes, and Maggie panted a moment before saying, "It's a dick, my dude."

And if Maggie didn't know any better, she would have thought both Jack and Claire needed immediate medical attention, because both were laughing so hard that only squeaks were coming out. Jack fell back gracelessly on his ass, finally sucking in air and laughing loud enough to disturb some birds.

Maggie snorted, then giggled, until she too was on the ground, laughing beside them.

A little ways off, Charlie turned to Donna and grinned. "Best fucking play I've ever seen."

\---

When Sam had said "Let's go on a picnic", Claire had heard "Let's go camping."

Which is why she, Maggie, and Jack were pitching three tents while an exasperated Jody tried to take them down.

"This is just a _day trip,_ guys! We can't stay the night!"

"Sorry!" Claire yelled back. "We can't hear you over the sound of us unrolling our sleeping bags!"

Charlie snorted, opening her backpack to reveal a sleeping bag of her own. "What's the tent situation like, guys?"

Jack popped his head out of a tent. "It's gonna be Claire, Maggie, and me in this tent. You, Jody, and Donna can have that other one. Sam and Rowena get the little one."

Sam, who had been busy setting up the picnic, dropped a loaf of bread. "Hold the phone—"

"No phones!" Maggie declared, running out of the tent. "Only nature!"

"Maggie, dearie!" Rowena called out after her. "Could ye find me rosehips, please?"

Maggie paused to kick off her shoes and socks. "This time of year?"

"Aye. I've got a strong feeling."

"Then I'll keep a lookout. Anything else?"

"Are ye headin' to the lake?"

"Of course."

Rowena motioned her over to give her a list as Claire and Jack finished setting up the last tent.

"We're camping," Claire told Jody firmly.

Jody ran a hand through her hair and looked back at Donna, who shrugged. "Sam!" Jody called out. "Do some parenting!"

Sam met Charlie's eyes and sighed. "Yeah, okay. Camping it is."

Charlie smiled a bit and Claire whooped.

"The portal gonna be okay?" Sam asked Charlie as she unrolled her sleeping bag.

"Only one thing can get out, so yes," she told him. "Though I still am off the case until things get better around here."

Sam watched as Claire and Jack both kicked their shoes off as well, running barefoot after Maggie into the woods. "That's fair," he told her softly.

"What, no fighting? No excuses?"

Sam looked around a bit before standing up and holding out his hand to her. "How about we go for a swim instead?"

\---

Dean knew this place.

He _knew_ he knew this place. It was inky black and endless, as far as he could tell. There was nothing, not even stars.

But he knew it.

His memories of it were hazy at best, and didn't quite make sense. Like a memory of eighth grade that turned out to be a memory of second. He couldn't place the last time he was here.

But he knew it had to do with Sam.

He could remember little snippets. Or, at least, there were snippets of memories. Maybe they weren't his. Maybe this was another trap.

"Sam?" he called out to the empty space.

There was no response and no Sam.

"Sammy?" he asked again, afraid for some reason to leave the table. Something bad had happened last time he got up. But he couldn't remember what it was.

But the idea of… the mere _concept_ of seeing Sam again stole his breath away. He had given up his entire world for Sam. And here he was, knowing somewhere far back that Sam was usually here.

"Sam!" he called out to the void.

\---

In a forest lake, Sam put a worried hand over his heart.

\--- 

Back at the Bunker, an inky black hand reached out of a portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "We're Going to be Friends" by The White Stripes
> 
> "Tonight I'll dream while in my bed  
> When silly thoughts go through my head  
> About the bugs and alphabet  
> And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet  
> That you and I will walk together again  
> I can tell that we are going to be friends"


	35. Changin'

Donna sat beside Jody on the bank of the lake.

"Beer?" Donna offered.

Jody accepted, taking a short swig.

They watched as Charlie successfully pushed Jack into the water from her perch on Sam's shoulders. Maggie helped Jack up and put him back on her shoulders, ready for the next round.

It was, of course, delightfully unfair.

Jody laughed as Jack fell forwards instead of backwards, toppling Charlie and Sam.

"We used to play Chicken when I was little," Donna began. "My dad used to put me on his shoulders, and we would always win."

"That's what Shaun and Owen used to do, too," Jody responded.

They sat in silence amicably for some time, just enjoying the warming weather and the fun of it all.

"Ya think he's gonna be okay?" Donna asked quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think he is."

"I don't think Claire is gonna wanna come back with us. I think she's found her people."

Jody shrugged. "I'll miss her, not gonna lie."

"I'm sure she'll visit."

Jody snorted. "If she visits  _ half _ as much as Dean liked to, we'll have to change the locks."

"It's your own fault! He never could resist your cooking."

"You know, once I found him taking photos of my recipe books?"

Donna giggled, bottle against her lips. "Did ya really?"

"I told him he could just keep them. Said they'd been in my family long enough that I knew every recipe by heart."

"I  _ thought _ those books in the Bunker kitchen looked familiar."

There was another splash, and both women laughed as Maggie emerged from the water, shortly followed by Jack.

"We  _ demand _ the giant stoop down!" Maggie announced loudly, causing Sam to laugh hard enough that Charlie fell off.

Jack climbed easily back onto Maggie's shoulders, soggy wings stretched out. "En garde!" he yelled.

Donna looked over to Jody. "We'll come back soon, right?"

"As often as we can."

\---

Claire jumped from the cliff edge, cannonballing into the water. Jack turned to look at her, giving Charlie the perfect opportunity to topple him. Again.

Jack surfaced, laughing and pushing his soaking hair out of his eyes.

Charlie whooped in victory. "C'mon, Jackie. You gotta put up  _ some  _ kind of a fight!" she told him, winking. "Right, Sam?"

"Oh, hm?" Sam said innocently, shrugging his shoulders and causing Charlie to fall. "Couldn't hear you, sorry." He grinned wide at her as she launched herself at him, causing Sam to lose his balance.

Maggie grabbed Sam's arm and pulled, and all three crashed into the lake.

Sam came up for air, laughing so hard he almost fell over again.

"That was unfair! You can't team up on me like that!" he accused, grinning.

Charlie pushed her hair back, winking at Maggie. "Well, c'mon. Two of us make one of you. Right, Mags?"

"Right!" Maggie agreed.

"Daaaaaaad," Jack said, pulling Sam towards the shore. "C'mon!"

Sam followed Jack, still smiling. "Where are we going?"

Claire grabbed Sam's other arm, helping Jack lead. "We're gonna cliff dive!"

Sam snorted, letting them lead him to the base of the cliff. "I did this at a few college parties."

Claire blinked. "You went to college?"

"Uh, yeah. Stanford." Sam flashed a grin at her before climbing up the back of the cliff face. "I went for Pre-Law, but dropped out before I could finish. Now I just have an Associate's in English."

"I never knew that," she told him, climbing beside him.

"Eh, it's an old part of me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything  _ else _ about you I should know?"

Sam thought. "Well once—"

"That  _ won't _ make me laugh?"

"Ah. I'll save the oregano story for later, then."

Claire reached the top first, shortly followed by Sam and Jack.

"I'll go first," Claire told them as she got a running start and leapt. They could hear her victory cheer as she plummeted, and the gentle crash of her hitting the water.

Charlie and Maggie whooped, clapping wildly.

Jack watched with wide eyes, wings quivering. "Wait, how do I…?"

Sam motioned to the edge. "You just make sure there's nothing down there you're gonna hit, and then you just… go for it, sorta."

Jack looked at the water with concern. "Uh… would you—"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. Of course." Sam backed up to take a running start. "Just, follow me."

Sam ran and jumped.

He landed immediately on solid ground, stumbling slightly.

"What—"

Sam cut himself off, looking around at endless black.

"No."

With no table to be seen.

"No no no no— DEAN!" Sam looked around wildly for any way to tell where he was, but none came. It was the same in every direction.  _ "DEAN!" _

\---

Dean fisted his hands against the table, looking around for Sam.

He might have to leave his spot, he thought. He wondered if it was worth it. He wondered what would happen if he left this chair.

\---

Sam took deep breaths, desperately trying to remember which direction the Bunker had been.

"This way," he assured himself, then took a tentative step.

\---

What if Sam was just out there? Just beyond hearing range? And Dean needed to get up and find him?

What if he headed the wrong way?

Dean put his head in his hands, gritting his teeth. Sam was here. He knew it. He  _ knew _ it.

\---

Sam couldn't take the step.

He wasn't supposed to leave his spot. It was dangerous. It separated mind and body. It could kill him.

"Dean?" Sam asked the void. "DEAN!"

\---

"SAM!" Dean yelled, desperately listening for a response that never came.

What if Sam didn't want to see him anymore? What if Sam had moved on?

The thought brought him more comfort than it once had.

\---

Sam felt his lungs constrict, his head pound.

Everything within him was begging to run, to go to Dean, to take this singular shot he had.

But he saw it, there in front of him, clear as day:

Jack, bawling. Claire, fatherless again. Maggie pulling into herself. Jody, hand raking through her own hair, stressed, asking herself what she could have done differently. Donna, trying to lift spirits and keep everyone happy, dying inside. Charlie, alone in a world she didn't know.

Sam sat down in his spot.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Suddenly, without warning, there was something holding him, pushing him down, down, down. It was giant, a kaleidoscope of black and more black. It dripped and growled and clawed, and Sam felt the world shift around him.

\---

Sam opened his eyes to sunlight streaming into water.

He swam up, up, up, until he broke the surface, gasping in a breath.

There was cheering from the bank, and a short yelp followed by a splash to the left of him.

He turned to see Jack surface, eyes wide. "Woah," Jack said. "That was awesome! I— Dad? Are you okay?"

\---

"Sam?" Dean finally asked, quiet, resigned.

No answer came.

\---

"I… I… I…"

Sam wanted to say, 'I lost him.' He wanted to say, 'He was there. I was there. I missed him. I stayed put, I kept myself alive at his expense, and I don't know who I am anymore.'

"Dad?"

Sam gave Jack a small smile and coughed a bit. "I think I'd like to get back to that fire, now."

\---

Dean's lungs seized as water filled them, and he hit the lid of the coffin, hard.

"Tell me," he gritted out.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you knew Sam."

"I… I did. Yes."

"Then tell me about him. Prove it to me. And then maybe I'll believe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Things are Changin'" by Gary Clark Jr
> 
> "Ooh baby  
> Things are changing now, and I can't tell  
> where I'll be from from here on out  
> ooh it's hell"


	36. State of the Soul

Dean's eyes were as bright as they once had been.

_ Castiel, _ he had said once, smiling wide, tongue between his teeth.  _ Castiel, sunshine, what's on your mind? _

And Castiel would say,  _ Oh, oh, nothing to worry about. _

And Dean would slip his fingers up to Castiel's cheeks, would pepper soft kisses against his brow.  _ Are you thinking of me? _

And  _ of course, _ Castiel would say.  _ You are all I can ever think about. _

Dean would nuzzle him softly, and ask,  _ Wanna know what  _ **_I'm_ ** _ thinking of? _

_ But, of course. _

And Dean would kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and say,  _ You. You. Only you. _

\---

Sam was my best friend.

It's something that feels strange to say. I'm indescribably old. I have led armies, and I have gone harsh into the night. I have scoured Hell, and I have overtaken Heaven.

And Sam was my best friend.

I was… desperate, I think, when I met him. I believe he was desperate, too. We both knew what it was to be scorned for who we were.

You see, Heaven considered your brother an abomination. That's all I had ever known him as. When I greeted him… I saw his soul. It shone bright, even brighter through its own cracks. He was the Abomination, and I held his hand in both my own, because he was beautiful.

When Heaven later called  _ me _ an abomination, I could not help but to think, 'But… yes. And I am in the greatest of company.'

Sam and I would often sit in the library together. He would hand me his favorite books, and, though I could read them in a millisecond, I would turn page by page and imagine I was sharing some intrinsic thing with him.

He had a penchant for early morning jogs, and sometimes, I would go with him.

We would travel along the same paths through woods, end at a cliffside with a beautiful sunrise. I introduced him to a cafe in town that served authentic cappuccinos, and we would sit and talk about nothing. And everything.

Without a doubt, I loved him.

There were moments he reminded me of Gabriel. They actually were as numerous as the stars, those moments. His eyes shone bright with light I never thought I would see again.

\---

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry I asked."

Castiel looked to Dean, who was frowning.

"Look man, no offense, but I really don't wanna hear about your crush on my brother."

"I— no. No. He was my brother, as well. He was my Gabriel."

"I don't know who that is."

_ Dean laughed, hands absently tracing Castiel's face. "Noooo," he wheezed. "No, he didn't!" _

_ "He did," Castiel responded, grinning broadly. "I swear to you, there is an entire nebula out there that is an exact replica of a human penis. Only… millions of light years bigger." _

_ Dean snorted, hands moving to cover his mouth. "Holy shit," he chuckled. "Did he name it?" _

_ Castiel rolled his eyes. "Of course he named it. He's Gabriel." _

_ Dean shouldered him gently. "Well, c'mon. Don't hold out on me, here." _

_ "...He named it 'Gabriel's Glory'." _

_ Dean couldn't stop laughing. _

"Of course you don't."

\---

Gabriel was my older brother. He raised me, much like you raised Sam.

The two of you are actually very similar. I had thought, more than once, that you and he would have paired nicely. However, the cards never lay quite right, do they?

We were talking about Sam, though.

I'm not romantically in love with Sam. It's a different kind of love. That's not to say that I could  _ never _ be romantically in love with Sam, just… that I'm not. I found my heart… otherwise engaged.

I will freely admit that I had looked down that path before. Wondered what it would be like to wake up with him, make him coffee, read books until sunrise. Which, really, wasn't actually any different than what we already did. But, without fail, his face always seemed to… change, I suppose, into someone else.

\---

"Dude, I  _ just _ said—"

"Right, sorry."

\---

Sam was…

_ "You okay?" _

…

…

…

Humans are fragile.

I know that. I was  _ born _ knowing that. I know that any human I meet will eventually die. It is life. But that doesn't make it any easier.

Sometimes I do sleep, in here. And sometimes I dream of Sam. And nothing has changed. I'll sit in one armchair, and he'll be in the other, and he'll stick a bookmark in a passage and hand it to me.

We had a highlighter system, you know. Only yellow was ever used for actually important information. All the other colors entailed some sort of commentary on someone specific.

For example, he once highlighted almost the entirety of  _ On The Road _ in pink, which was our code color to represent you.

On the day you threw out all of his salads, he highlighted every instance of the word "bastard" he could find in pink.

\---

_ Sam held out his hand absently for Castiel's book, trying to get to the end of the page in his own. _

_ He put the bookmark Cas had made him on the page and closed it, turning finally to the bright pink passage Cas had handed him. _

_ 'I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.' _

_ And Sam smiled softly and grabbed his highlighters, marking a corner before handing the book back. _

_ Castiel's smile grew soft at the blue and pink heart. _

_ A few minutes passed before Sam handed his book to Castiel, with a single line highlighted, pink. _

_ 'That motherfucker.' _

_ Castiel had to cover his mouth to quiet his laughter. _

_\---_

Sam truly was my best friend.

…

I miss him.

I… I miss his smile. And his laugh. And his trivia. And his rambling. I miss his cooking, and his style, and his penchant for petting every animal he saw. I miss every little thing about him.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

\---

Castiel stared up at the stars on the lid, at the rough beginnings of Sam's face that Dean had carved, long ago. He ran a hand along the cheek.

"You really knew him, huh?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yes."

"You know you didn't call him tall once?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I'm much taller than him."

"Really? Because I mean, I can't see but I'm pretty sure that's your foot I keep kicking."

"I'm the size of the Chrysler building."

"This box isn't that big."

"It's complicated."

Dean huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "It can't be  _ that _ complicated."

"I'm stuffed into this tiny body, and this tiny body fits inside this box."

"Then you're  _ not _ taller than Sam."

"I'm taller than Sam."

"No, you're not."

_ "Yes, _ I am."

"No way. Turn on your side."

"...What?"

"On your side. Do it."

Castiel turned to face away from Dean, frowning. "Don't tell me what to do."

Dean kicked around until he felt Castiel's feet, then scooted closer to line up his own. "I'll do what I fucking please."

The planes of Dean's body didn't really feel the same. They were harder, less forgiving.

"Quit wiggling," Dean mumbled.

"I'm not wiggling."

_ "Be still." _

_ "I  _ **_am."_ **

Castiel felt Dean's palm brush against the top of his head.

"Dude.  _ I'm  _ taller than you."

"I told you it doesn't  _ work _ that way," he gritted out.

"Bullshit!"

"Can you  _ not?!" _ Castiel growled, turning and shoving Dean away.

_ "You're  _ Mr. Touchy-McFeely over there!" Dean's hand was still tight in his hair.

"Touchy-Mc—" Cas stared at him incredulously. "What does that even mean?"

"I uh… I'm not sure, it just kinda… slipped out."

Cas looked up at Dean's arm, Dean's hand still firmly in his hair. "Does that make you Handsy-McGrabby?" he deadpanned.

"Touchy-McFeely and Handsy-McGrabby, in Coffin-McBoxy."

"One order to-go, please."

Castiel felt it more than heard it. The slow chuckle that built up from within Dean's chest. It was like electricity that revived his heart. It was everything he feared he would never hear again.

Dean's hand slipped softly out of his hair, barely brushing his cheek as he laughed.

Castiel's lips parted, his eyes widened.

It was as if he had emerged from the darkest night—

And Dean was the sunrise.

"You're not so bad, ya know," Dean told him, smile still lingering on his lips.

"Oh, I am— I am  _ quite _ the bad person."

Dean's eyes twinkled, as if he had forgotten where he was. "That so?"

"Oh, yes. Once, I checked out a library book and didn't return it until the  _ day _ it was due."

"You monster."

"Indeed. There was also an instance where I drank milk—" he paused for dramatic effect, "—right out of the carton."

"How absolutely chaotic!"

"I'm a… bamf," Castiel said decidedly, hoping he used that word right.

"A bamf?"

"A bad-ass motherfucker."

Dean snorted, and it was like Castiel could breathe again. "Why do cuss words just sound  _ wrong _ coming out of your mouth?"

"Oh, do they?"

"Mmhm. It's almost like…" Dean's smile slowly faded, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Like?" Cas prompted, heart stuck in his throat.

"Like I'm  _ supposed _ to trust you." Dean backed away, to the other side of the box. "Oh my god. I can't believe I just—"

"Dean?"

"No.  _ No. _ Do  _ not _ say my name. I can't believe I  _ fell _ for that! It was just one terrible joke after another!"

Castiel closed his eyes in pain a moment, knowing nothing he could say would do any good. "Would you like another, then?" he rasped out.

"What?"

"Another terrible joke."

"I—…"

Dean didn't know how to respond, so Castiel stared at the fake stars and said, "Knock knock."

"...Who's there?"

And Castiel gave him a sad smile he couldn't see, and responded, "Another being who fell for a few terrible jokes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Song for a Friend" by Jason Mraz
> 
> "And I got you  
> You know we've got a lot to go around  
> I'll be your friend  
> Your other brother  
> Another love to come and comfort you  
> And I'll keep reminding  
> If it's the only thing I ever do  
> I will always love  
> I will always love you  
> Yes you"


	37. The Moss

Everyone cheered as Charlie successfully caught a marshmallow Sam had thrown at her.

Claire snatched the bag from Sam's hands and pointed at Jack. "Go long!" she yelled before yeeting a marshmallow as far as she could.

Jack caught it easily between his teeth, throwing his hands up in victory.

"Jack, dearie," Rowena said, motioning him over. "Come here, please."

Jack jogged over, mouth full. "Yesh?"

"I think I figured this spell out. Sit in front o' me, please."

Jack sat cross-legged in front of her, watching the fire as she began weaving different plants into his feathers.

"Sam," Maggie said, sitting beside Jack. "Tell us a story."

Sam considered his marshmallow, roasting on the fire. "I'm not sure you want that."

"Yeah c'mon," Claire teased, pushing at Sam with her foot, "tell us a story, old man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Nope. Whatcha got? Thumbelina? Peter Pan? Winnie the Pooh?"

Sam looked at his browned marshmallow, smiling slightly. "Actually, there's one Dean used to tell me. He made it up as he went along and kept me entertained on long car rides and stakeouts."

Claire faltered for a moment before pulling her snark back on. "Ah, an even OLDER man story. Wonderful. Maybe I should just go ahead and tell my apocalyptic biker story instead."

"The Adventures of Delmar and France. That's what you'd be missing," Sam teased, making a s'more.

Jack looked back and forth between them. "Who are Delmar and France?" he asked curiously.

Sam fake-gasped, handing his s'more off to Maggie. "What?!" he exclaimed. "You don't know who  _ Delmar _ and  _ France _ are?!" Sam turned to Charlie. "Did you hear that? He doesn't know who Delmar and France are."

Charlie shook her head, smiling slightly. "A travesty," she responded, also having never heard the story before.

Sam grinned at her before turning back to Jack. "It's okay, Jack, you get a pass this time but you have to listen to this now, okay? Commit this story to memory, as it is the single most important story ever told. Ever."

"Really?"

"Well, yes. You know how sometimes you feel like you're in danger, but then you turn around and no one is there? Delmar and France just took down whatever was tailing you. They are the greatest warriors to ever exist."

All three kids stared at Sam, wide-eyed, as the older adults listened curiously in the background.

How did Dean start this story? Fuck, Sam couldn't remember. He had been barely able to shoot a gun when Dean began it all.

So Sam made up his own beginning.

\---

It starts — as all frog stories do — in a swamp.

\---

Claire held up a hand. "Woah woah woah. Wait. Did you just say Delmar and France are  _ frogs?" _

"I did."

"How can  _ frogs _ be the greatest warriors to ever exist?"

Sam suppressed a wide grin, because he vaguely remembered saying the same thing, long ago.

So he responded the same way Dean had.

"Don't be racist, Claire."

\---

It was a small swamp, with great cypress trees towering up to the heavens. Hundreds of frogs lived there, and each had its own fantastic adventures, but none quite like those of Delmar and France.

Delmar and France were best friends. They had known each other as tadpoles, and had been close ever since.

While Delmar spent his teenage years going on grand adventures, France spent his learning everything about everything.

So, when Delmar came back to the swamp one day looking for a partner, France was just the guy.

"France," Delmar said, "I need your help. You're smart, and you spent your teenage years learning everything about everything."

"I did, that's right," France said back. "What do you need my help with?"

"Two swamps over, a gang of big, ugly ogres have taken up residence. They're killing the frogs and putting them in their stew!"

France was shocked. "But what can  _ I  _ do?" France asked, terrified.

"Don't you know about ogres?"

"I know everything about everything."

"Then, come help me take them down!"

But France was terrified, and he begged Delmar to reconsider.

"No," Delmar told him. "I will not reconsider. Innocent frogs are dying, and we might be able to save them! Stay here, if you wish. Stay in your comfy log, with your abundant moss and endless flies. I'm going to go save our frog brothers."

France tried to forget his friend's words, but he tossed and turned all night in his comfy log, which no longer seemed that comfy.

"Darn you," France finally told the night air, before getting up and hopping as fast as he could towards the fated swamp.

\---

Claire stepped out of her tent into the cool night, stretching.

Everyone else was still asleep in their respective tents. Jack had been snuggled with her when she woke up, and she had snorted and pushed him off. That boy sleep-snuggled. She needed to get him a stuffed animal.

Claire walked a ways, mostly just thinking to herself. It was quiet out here, which was more than she could say for the Bunker the past few months.

But she had faith, now. It would get better.

"Hey," a voice said behind her.

_ "Jesus fucking Christ!" _ Claire screeched, arms going up to shield herself.

There was a hand over her mouth, and soft laughs before her. "Jesus, Claire. Shush," Maggie teased. "You're gonna wake up the trees."

Claire moved her head, taking deep breaths. "They're already awake," she grumbled, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Sorry I scared you! I heard you get up, so I thought I would, too."

"You didn't scare me…"

Maggie rolled her eyes and put a hand over Claire's heart. "Yeah. Sure I didn't. Your heart is just  _ naturally _ this fast."

As their eyes adjusted to the light — or lack thereof — Claire blushed. "I… I uh…"

Maggie cleared her throat and brought her hand back. "Sorry."

"It's ah… It's okay."

"So!" Maggie blurted out. "What are you doing out here, so late-early? Early-late?"

"I'm… thinking," Claire said, shaking her head to clear it.

"Yeah? Mind if I think with you?"

Claire smiled at her. "I'd love that."

They began walking slowly, trudging around one very large circle.

"I'm thinking about Sam," Claire said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Oh, yeah. You never really got to tell me what happened. It took  _ every  _ ounce of charm I had to keep the mom squad from going after you."

Claire shrugged one shoulder. "He was at the ocean."

"Oh."

"Yeah. He was… Well, I sped to get there. A lot. I arrived just after him, and he was… angry. At Dean. And I went to him, and we talked about Dean and Cas and Dad and… I dunno. We found ourselves a little bit, I think."

"You think he's gonna be okay?"

"Not yet. But eventually… yeah. The ball will get smaller."

"Uh, what?"

Claire glanced over at Maggie. "It was this thing my mom used to tell me. Grief is like a ball in a box, and there's a button in there with it. And every time the ball hits it, you get shocked. And at first, the ball is huge, and it hits the button all the time. But time passes, and the ball gets smaller, and maybe you only get shocked once a day or once a week. And it keeps going. Some days the ball is huge again. It's just how grief works. But a day will come when the ball won't hit the button even once."

"That's… profound."

"My mom was a wise woman." Claire looked up at the leaves. "I think Sam's afraid of that day."

"The day when it doesn't hurt anymore?"

"Yeah."

Maggie looked up at the leaves, too. "Yeah."

"Sorry if that was… intense."

"Don't apologize. It's hard not to think about those kinds of things when you've been through all the shit we have."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Kinda sucks."

Maggie shouldered her gently. "Tis life."

"Tis  _ our _ life."

"Yeah well… you're in it, so it's not all that bad."

The sun was just beginning to rise, and the first rays of light hit Claire's cheeks. "Hey," Claire said, laughing slightly. "You're wearing my shirt."

Maggie glanced down at her own chest before looking back at Claire. She opened her mouth to respond, but found her words stolen by the soft smile that graced Claire's lips. "Hey, Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

Claire's cheeks were beautiful, tinged pink. Her lips parted slightly in surprise, slightly in awe. "Okay," she whispered.

Maggie took a slow step forward, as if Claire was an animal that would run. And maybe, in a way, she was.

Claire was wild, but so was Maggie, and their lips met softly, in a gentleness neither had known for quite some time.

Claire smelled like strawberries and fire, and Maggie smelled like a stolen shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "The Moss" by Cosmo Sheldrake
> 
> "But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon  
> Or the cow that hopped the planets, while straddling a spoon  
> Or she who leapt up mountains, while whistling up a tune  
> And swapped her songs with swallows, while riding on a broom.  
> Well we can all learn things both many and a few  
> From that old hunched woman who lived inside a shoe  
> Or the girl that sang all day and by night she ate tear soup  
> Or, the man who drank too much and got the brewers' droop."


	38. In the Absence of Everything

"What's your greatest fear?" Dean asked Castiel.

"Are you talking to me or ignoring me entirely? Make up your mind," Cas returned bitterly.

"Right now I'm talking to you, asshole. What's your greatest fear?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? You're telling me you've been alive for what you're claiming are millennia, and you've never once sat down and thunk it out?"

Castiel sighed. "What do you want me to say? That I fear Death? I do not. That I fear loneliness? I am more lonely than you can bear to fathom. That I fear the Unknown? I am in it."

When Castiel turned to look at Dean, Dean was staring back. "Castiel."

"There are two things, and I don't know which is worse."

"Tell me."

"Why should I?"

"I'll tell you mine."

"I already know yours, Dean Winchester."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, right."

"You fear yourself. More than anything else. You fear what you can cause, and what you can make other people think. And you hate what you fear."

"Stop talking."

"Make up your mind."

"I bet you're afraid of being weak, of having no power, no nothing."

"You'd lose that bet."

Dean was silent a while. "What if I let you hold me for ten seconds?" he said quietly.

Castiel's lungs stuttered. "W… What?"

"If you tell me what you fear, I'll let you hold me for ten seconds. It's super obvious you want to."

"Why do you care so much?"

"It's strategic."

"You can't use this against me."

"I can try."

Castiel let out a slow breath. "I had a lover."

"That's not—"

"His name was…" ~~Dean~~ "Tithonus. I lost him."

"You lost him?"

"Yes. Quite tragically, actually. I'm old. You know that. I was made to be old, to live forever. He was not."

Castiel paused, gave Dean a chance to interrupt.

He didn't.

"He crumbled. One moment he was here, and we were everything. The next he was gone, and I—" Castiel's eyes traced over Dean's face. "And I was left here."

"What did you do?" It came so quietly, so sincerely, that Castiel almost didn't hear it.

"I promised myself that I would keep him warm, on the nights when he can't remember why he feels so cold."

Something in Dean was shivering, shaking to the core. The marrow in his bones struggled against him.

"To return to your original question, Tithonus wasting away sparked within me two great fears: that, one day, I would cease loving him entirely, and a second, new fear: that I never would."

Dean didn't say anything. He took Castiel's hand in his, pressed it to his face.

"What is this for?" Castiel whispered, fingers against the curve of Dean's cheek.

"Your ten seconds."

Castiel took his hand back. It felt like it burned without Dean's skin against it. "I don't want them."

Dean pulled Castiel's fingers against his face. "I refuse to owe you."

"Dean—"

"Shut the fuck up and just take your damn seconds."

Castiel's fingers curled in Dean's hair.

Dean held Castiel's hand against his cheek for much longer than ten seconds.

"Do you?" he whispered, late that night, when Castiel's hand had become familiar to his stubble.

"Do I?"

"Do you still love him?"

Castiel felt Dean's heartbeat against his fingerprints. If he strained a bit, used some of his finite grace, he could see the spiderweb of veins across his throat, the pores in his bones, the cracks in his soul.

"Go to sleep, Dean," Castiel finally replied.

\---

Dean hated him.

God, Dean hated him. He hated him with every ounce of his being. He hated waking up, clutching at a coat or a hand. He hated the gentle timbre of his voice.

But, most of all, Dean hated how much he wanted to like this demon.

If he didn’t focus on it, his guard would drop, and he would smile. Or, god forbid, _laugh._

Those moments of realization made Dean’s hatred worse. He wanted to strangle Castiel. He wanted to rip the bones from his flesh. He wanted to shove his tongue so far down his throat that he couldn't breathe. He wanted to know what unearthly sounds demons made when they were as close to Heaven as Dean could feasibly bring them.

Dean ground his teeth, jaw muscles flexing. His thoughts were getting mixed up, and there was no way to sort them.

No matter how he moved, or discreetly rubbed at his cheek (he was very sure this demon could see in the dark), he couldn’t get the feeling to go away. The feeling of Castiel’s hand against his face, so soft, so loving. It had been so long since anyone had touched him for anything other than pain that… well. Dean couldn’t let go.

It stayed there, that invisible handprint, no matter what he did, what thought experiments he performed. He thought maybe he could just rip his own face off, that maybe _pain_ would be easier than knowing that a hand against his cheek had virtually undone him, had caused him to gasp, had spilled a few tears.

It felt like dreams he used to have, of waking up to his mother’s smile, breakfast ready, baby Sammy in his crib.

It felt like home.

And Dean hated that more than he hated Castiel.

“Dean?” Castiel said.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. Castiel refused to speak first, for some reason. But, Dean _pretended_ he said his name, and so snarled back, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking something.” God, that was stupid.

“I was, yes,” Castiel said, mildly surprised. “Are you wanting to know what it was?”

“No.” Dean crossed his arms, rubbed the side of his face against his shoulder. It still felt warm, still felt like _him._

“Alright, then.”

And Dean sighed. “Tell me anyway.”

"I was thinking about deer."

"The animal?"

"Yes. It's my favorite, as you may recall."

"Why would I recall that."

Castiel was silent for a moment. "Ah. Yes. My apologies. It's my favorite animal, as I am telling you now… for the first time."

"Hm. My favorite animal is the wolf."

"No, it's not. Your favorite animal is the painted bunting."

"Excuse you?"

"We are here forever, Dean. Quit painting on your own mask. It's useless."

"I'm not— I mean, _yes,_ my favorite animal is a bird but it's not a _painted_ bunting. It's just a bunting. Common little shits."

"You saved one. As a child. Correct?"

"I… yeah," Dean responded, surprised. "I found a baby one that had fallen out of its nest and it was just so… small, I guess, so I took care of it until it could fly. Kept it hidden so Dad wouldn't find it." Why was he doing this. He was supposed to be _hating_ the demon, goddammit!

Castiel gazed at him through the water. "It was a painted bunting. They don't look like much until their second year, and then they become colorful enough to rival the most splendid of animals."

"They… they do?"

"Yes."

Dean's eyes were searching for Castiel's fruitlessly. "What do they look like?" he asked softly.

"They have a blue head, dark but not muted. Their belly is red, and their wings are marbled green and purple and softer, un-nameable colors."

Dean huffed out a breath. "That's a bit… That's past my imagination's paygrade. Can't you just show me?"

"Ah, yes. Let me just— go outside and grab one. From the bottom of the ocean. Of course."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You said you're an angel or something, right? Can't angels like… _inspire_ people? Put dreams and words and shit in their heads?"

"No."

"What? So the entire fuckin' Bible is a lie?"

"Well, yes, but I meant it in more of a 'No, Dean, I'm not doing that' kind of way."

"Why not?" Dean definitely didn't whine.

"For one, you are not one of the humans who would even be _receptive_ to it. You couldn't even process my true voice."

Dean snorted. "True voice? What, even gravellier than this? Or do you sound like Minnie Mouse?"

Castiel ignored him. "And for two, Revelation often… overpowers humans."

"Okay…?"

"It's called Ecstasy for a reason."

"Ah, drugs."

Cas rolled his eyes. "More like the most intense high of anyone's existence."

Dean leaned closer to Castiel, and whispered, "Hey, buddy?"

Castiel's eyes were wide, throat dry. He couldn't answer.

"I'm not gonna get high off a picture of a fucking _bird."_

Cas let out a breath.

Dean gently punched the ceiling. "But besides all that, I really wanna hear your voice now."

"No."

"C'mon!"

_"No."_

"Please?"

"My answer stands."

Dean growled and crossed his arms over his chest, grumbling. This was the most interesting thing to happen down here, and he couldn't even sate his own curiosity.

"Now, as I was saying about deer—"

Dean reached out blindly, hand sliding against the side of Castiel's neck, entreating. "Please?" he asked again. He knew this game. He could play it well.

Castiel gulped.

"It's all I ask," Dean murmured. "It's all I want."

"Dean," Castiel warned.

 _"Castiel,"_ Dean responded, letting the name roll off his tongue. He shouldn't be doing this. Why was he doing this.

Castiel let out a noise, slightly choked and very frustrated. "It would only hurt you."

Dean's lips twitched. "Maybe I'm into that." This was a knife. This was a sharp knife that Dean was dancing dangerously close to.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Maybe I want you to." Dean's heart was racing. He needed to stop. He needed to stop _now._

He traced his fingers behind Castiel's ear.

"You're insufferable," Castiel told him, matter-of-fact.

"Say my name," Dean whispered, pulling Castiel closer.

And when Castiel said, "Dean," it was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard.

He took in the biggest breath of his life. His lungs ached with the force of holding it.

"See?" Castiel said, gently pushing Dean away. "It's just… glass-shattering noise."

"Say it again," Dean begged in a breath of air.

"What?"

"My name. Anything. Everything. Say it all again."

"You… can hear me?" Castiel said, voice echoing like church bells.

"Please," Dean pleaded. "It's the only beautiful thing left here. Say it again."

"I don't… I don't understand…"

But Dean's hands had moved of their own accord, had cupped Castiel's cheeks, shaking. _"Cas,"_ Dean said.

And Castiel could hold on no longer.

He placed a shuddering palm against Dean's head, eyes glowing blue.

Dean saw it, then. A beautiful bird, glorious and colorful, flying from tree to tree. It was his bird, he was sure of it. It warbled a sweet song.

And it was the most awe-inspiring thing Dean had ever seen.

When was the last time he had _seen_ something?

Castiel drew his palm back, and Dean's eyes fluttered.

"There," Castiel said shakily, drained, trying to gain some semblance of composure. "That's a painted bunting."

It was brief. A fraction of a second, really, but Dean saw it.

There, bathed in blue light, was this being he had spent the last however-long talking to and arguing with.

And, oh. Oh, dear God. Dear universe. Dear everything.

He was beautiful.

\---

"G'mornin, Sam," Rowena mumbled. "What time is it?"

Sam took in a deep breath and yawned. "Sometime after sunrise."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "What would I do without ye," she deadpanned. "I can _tell_ it's after sunrise."

Sam tapped on his phone screen, waking it up. "Around seven."

"Thanks." She stretched her arms out and sat up in the tent. "Did ye sleep well?"

"You… don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"Worry. About me. I'm doing alright."

“Sure ye are. Anyway, I’m not worryin’ at the moment. I’m jest enjoying chattin’ with my friend.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Ye have some?”

Sam rummaged around in his bag at the foot of the tent, finally pulling out a weirdly-shaped coffee pot. “I’ve got a camping percolator, sure. Don’t let the others know, though. Those kids can chug coffee like it’s water.”

Rowena smirked. “Can’t imagine that. Though, I’ve got to ask… Why do ye even have that?”

“Oh, it was a Christmas present from Bobby last year—”

“I mean, ye weren’t exactly plannin’ on campin’, were ye? It was all the childrens’ idea, right?”

Sam froze, hand still poised to pack coffee grounds into the rudimentary machine. “Um.”

Rowena slowly grinned. “You meant fer this to happen, didn’ ye?”

Sam averted his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ye planned on campin’ all along. Yer jest a big softie, Sam.”

Sam ignored her, ears red as he waited for the coffee to finish.

“Woulda been nice if ye had told me, though. I’ve been borrowin’ Charlie’s clothes.”

“That would explain the WizRock shirt.”

“The what?”

“The shirt. It’s— nevermind. You look cute.”

“I… Thank ye.”

They sat in silence for a while as Sam found the coffee cups.

Rowena observed him calmly, still slightly huddled in her blankets. “Yer upset about somethin’, Samuel.”

“Oh, always.” Sam tried for a joking tone, but it fell a little flat. He cleared his throat and poured two cups of steaming coffee. “Am I a… bad person?”

“I don’ think so.”

“How would I know?”

“I think… I think bad people hurt other people.”

“I’ve hurt a lot of people. You know that.”

“Sure, but they never stop to think about it.” Rowena huffed through her nose. “Christ, it’s too early for anythin’ poetic. Sam, the difference between ye and bad people is that bad people never wake up wonderin’ if they’re bad people.”

“But—”

“Shush. When I was a bad person — an' I was — I would never have woken up wonderin’ whether I was doin’ the right thing. An’ I never _did_ wake up wonderin’ that… until I met you lot. An’ that’s how I know I’m doin’ better now. Because I’m constantly worried tha’ I’m not.”

Sam looked down into his coffee, like he could read the nonexistent grounds in the mug. "Thank you."

"Yer welcome." Rowena took a deep gulp of her coffee, closing her eyes as if to savor it better. "Can I ask why ye think yer a bad person?"

Sam didn't raise his eyes. "I was back there. In the Void, when I dove off that cliff." He shifted to sit criss-cross, the light dissipating across the tent fabric. It was quiet. "But I was all alone. I guess Dean was back at the Bunker spot. I couldn't see him or hear him. And I didn't… I didn't go looking for him."

"It would have killed ye."

"I know. That's… that's why I didn't. But when has that ever stopped me? What changed?"

"Oh, Sam." Rowena gestured to the shadows of tents outside. "They're what changed."

Somewhere, far off, a bunting sang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "In the Absence of Everything, I Promise to Keep you Warm" by Flatsound
> 
> "If this fire goes out, I will keep you warm  
> The best I can  
> I threw everything I have into the flames just to make it last"


	39. Wait for Me

Castiel thought perhaps, one day, he would be able to move on.

Dean was asleep, and Castiel thought he could live fine, sharing a room eternally with a slightly entertaining asshole. That wasn't what kept him from moving on.

The truth was, it hurt. It hurt when Dean glanced his way. It hurt when his arms ached to hold him.

But, mostly, it hurt in moments like this.

"Cas," Dean breathed in his sleep.

This is what kept Castiel from moving on.

Castiel took in a breath that was almost a laugh, and tears floated into the water. "Hello, Dean."

Dean reached for him in his sleep, rested a hand over Castiel's heart, over his arm, against his back.

"You don't want to hold me," Cas informed him sadly.

"Love you," Dean mumbled back, face smushed into Castiel's neck.

"But you don't," Cas whispered back.

"Love you s' m'ch."

Castiel thumped his head back against the side of the box, heart breaking.

Dean's lips pressed a kiss to his neck, and Castiel ached.

"I can't," Castiel told him, pushing him away. "Please, don't. This isn't real."

"Cas?"

"This is true pain," Castiel whispered. "Out of all the things I have been through, this is the one that will kill me."

There were tears streaming down Dean's sleeping cheeks. "Babe?" His hands reached out blindly for him.

"No."

Dean shuddered. "Cas… Miss you…"

"Go to sleep, Dean."

"Love you."

"Please."

"Love you…"

"Dean, I'm begging you."

"...don' you love me?"

"Please go to sleep," Castiel begged.

"Cas?"

Castiel pressed a hand over his own mouth.

"Babe?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut.

Dean cried himself into a much, much deeper sleep.

\---

He didn't understand it.

He was in a room. He liked this room. It felt like home, somehow, though he was sure he had never seen it before.

Dean looked over to where an alarm clock stood on a table. Three minutes until it went off, he knew.

"How?" he asked himself, sitting up in his bed.

He got up without disturbing the blanket at the end. He never used it. It was never cold.

He touched his head gingerly. Something felt off, somehow. He thought back to how he distinguished nightmares from his waking life and took a deep breath before opening a book on a shelf.

Nonsense words. Made-up letters.

This was a dream.

"Dean," a voice said. He knew that voice.

"Cas?" Dean responded, turning to the doorway.

Castiel was completely shadowed. He was darkness walking, with no real features beside his bright blue eyes and the suggestions of facial features Dean had already seen.

Something about that broke Dean's heart.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked, unmoving.

Dean looked back down at his book, suddenly forgetting all he had learned here. "I'm looking for something," he said. "I lost something."

"What did you lose?"

"I… I don't know."

"Then it can't have been too important, right?"

Dean frowned, thumbing gently at the worn pages. "It feels kinda like I left the oven on, but worse. Like I set my house on fire and drove away and forgot about it." He looked around, eyebrows furrowing. "It feels like I shouldn't be here."

"Then let's go."

Dean's hand shot out of its own accord. "Wait!"

Castiel looked at him evenly. The expression never changed.

Dean gulped. "Stay… Stay with me? For a little while longer?"

The doorway was something dark and swirling, picking up debris and driving it back.

Dean's bones trembled.

They were in a forest. It was merciless and colorless, and they needed to be on the other side of that door.

Dean wanted so desperately to hold Castiel's hand.

"Cas?" Dean whispered, voice trembling.

Cas was darker than before. There was nothing recognizable about him. Dean couldn't even be sure it  _ was _ him.

"Go ahead," Castiel told him. "I'll be right behind you."

"You won't," Dean said with absolute certainty.

"I'll follow you."

"I won't leave you." The words burned his tongue. His teeth ached.

"You will."

"Don't let go of me," Dean begged. When had he grasped so desperately at Castiel's hand? He had to be hurting him, but he couldn't let go. He couldn't. He couldn't.

"What is there for me to hold onto?"

"All of me," Dean begged, falling to his knees. "Hold onto any part of me. Every part of me. Grab the marrow in my bones, Castiel. Twine my nerves around your fingers. Sink your teeth into my veins. It's all yours. It's all for you. Take it. Take it! But please, Castiel… do not let me go."

But Dean was as thin as the night air, and Castiel's hand passed through his. "I'm going on, Dean."

"Please don't do this," Dean begged, lungs failing.

"We have gone far and wide together, but every journey must end."

"I will throw myself at your feet! Trip upon me! Hold me and I shall break every fall! Step forward, and my heart shall shatter. Look at me, Castiel. Please. Look at me. "

Castiel did not turn.

"Once more. If this truly is all I shall ever have, I wish to remember you."

"I wish that, too. Let me go, Dean."

"Castiel… I love you."

"Oh, Dean." Castiel turned to him, and his eyes were blinding blue. A silver point protruded from his chest. "Don't lie to me."

Dean gasped himself awake.

"Castiel?" his mouth bled out immediately, hands going out.

"I'm here— Woah, hey. Hey. Dean. I'm here."

Dean was shaking hard, the sort of shaking he only ever experienced after having thrown up viciously. He wanted to  _ scream. _

He splayed his fingers against Castiel's chest, felt it thoroughly. There were none of the usual thoughts of  _ I shouldn't be doing this. _ There was only, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm— Dean, I'm fine." Castiel held Dean's hands in his own, and the reality of them fastened Dean's aching mind to Castiel. "Whatever it was, it was just a dream."

Dean tightened like a spring, whose release came in burying his face in Castiel's trenchcoat and sobbing.

Castiel froze, unsure, before slowly rubbing his hands across Dean's back. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

"I wish… I want—"

"Dean?"

"I don't remember it," he confessed quietly. "I just… I lost something." Dean was sure of that. He was missing some mortal part of himself. His heart was fit to tear itself to shreds.

"You lost something," Castiel repeated, as if disbelieving his own ears.

"Something important. God, Cas. It felt like… like I was dying, but I couldn't die. Like every part of me was just — just fucking  _ rotting _ away while I stayed locked inside."

"What do you think you lost?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean's eyes searched the darkness. The sun would blind him, were he to ever see it again, he was sure. It would hit his optic nerve and destroy it in its beauty. But he didn't lose the sun.

Dean shook his head, the once-coarse fabric of Castiel's trenchcoat brushing his face softly, like moss. "My soul," he whispered.

\---

The trek back to the Bunker was easy and slow. No one was in a rush, and, more importantly, they were all simply enjoying each other's company. Jack was chatting it up with Rowena, doubtless thanking her for his present wing-less-ness. Sam smiled at him. He was definitely more energetic now, that was for sure.

"Granola bar?" Donna offered, taking wide strides to keep up with him.

"Thanks," Sam replied, accepting the proffered snack. "Good thing you were prepared."

"I'm always prepared for Claire's shenanigans," Donna said proudly.

Sam glanced up the path at Claire, hand swinging softly with Maggie's.

"Ya owe me twenty bucks on that, by the way." Donna grinned at him.

"Hey, how was  _ I _ supposed to know that they wouldn't wait til May?"

"A month off, bucko."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam dug a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket. "Just take the damn thing."

"Thank you," Donna sang, snatching the bill easily. She shouldered Sam. "I see you're feelin' better."

"A bit, yeah." Sam thought back to the beach, back to Claire. "A lot, actually. There's still shit I'm worried about but… I'm taking it step by step now."

"That's really good to hear. We were worried about ya."

"That's… I mean, you had every right to be." Sam glanced at her. "Jody tells me you two might be going back to your jobs soon?"

Donna nodded. "Yep, ya can only take so many emergency days off, ya know?"

Sam snorted. "It's been  _ months, _ Donna!"

"Yeah well, we had a few favors we could call in. It really wasn't too hard."

"Well, I appreciate you coming out. Who knows where I would be if you hadn't?"

Donna had an idea, but she wasn't about to say it. "And we  _ will _ be expectin' calls every week, got that? And we'll drop back in at  _ least _ every other month for the weekend."

Sam laughed and looked at the trees. "Well, maybe we could go visit you guys sometimes too. Bring the whole crew."

"We… We'd like that."

"Hey, Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Have I ever mentioned that I love you?"

Donna grinned and pushed Sam gently. "Shut it, ya lumberjack!" She saw his beaming smile and couldn't help but laugh. "I love ya, too."

They finally broke out of the woods, Bunker entrance just a little ways off. Sam was shocked how much of him saw it and thought,  _ Home. _

He unlocked the door and opened it, throwing a joke over his shoulder to Jody, who laughed without restraint.

Yeah, home.

Sam walked down the stairs to the landing and froze.

There, covered in black tar and eating a chocolate bar, was who he had been waiting on since the portal had opened.

"Samsquatch!" Gabriel yelled, arms out. "I knew ya loved me, but bringing me back from the dead? I'm flattered."

Sam stared, eyes wide. Some part of him, he thought distantly, never truly expected it to work.

Gabriel waved the wrapper of the candy he had just finished in the air. "You're out of chocolate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Wait For Me" from Hadestown
> 
> "Wait for me,  
> I'm coming!  
> Wait,  
> I'm coming with you!  
> Wait for me!  
> I'm coming too...  
> I'm coming too!"


	40. Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

It happened fast.

Charlie dove over the bannister, landing in a roll towards the hall. She grabbed a length of rope and easily lassoed Gabriel.

"What the fu—"

A second rope landed at his feet, and Sam dove to light it on fire.

Gabriel, arms tight against his sides, was speechless.

Sam dropped his forehead to the floor, breathing hard. He didn't look up until he heard frustrated noises coming from inside the holy circle.

"What— the—  _ fuck _ are these— ropes— made of?!" Gabriel gritted out, separating each word by a new contortion of his body.

"Sorry," Sam said, sitting up only to fall back onto his ass. He looked over to Charlie dazedly. "You have the glasses?"

"On it," she said, running down a different hall.

"Gabriel," Jack said from the staircase with mild surprise. "We weren't expecting you so soon."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Jack. "You seem pretty prepared to me," he said, flexing against the ropes for emphasis. "Unless Sam is just  _ into _ this."

Sam opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. "Claire, Maggie? Would you two mind going to see if that portal has closed?"

Claire was down the steps before Sam could finish. "On it," she told him, dragging Maggie along.

Maggie frowned. "But we expect an explanation when we get back," she managed to tell Sam before they left the main room.

Gabriel huffed, blowing some hair out of his eyes. "That spitfire is Jimmy's kid, right?"

"She's my kid," Sam said distractedly, looking anywhere but Gabriel. "So is Jack. Maggie's my ward, I think."

"You've been busy since last I saw you, then."

"Let's save the catching up until I know for sure you're actually Gabriel."

"Who else would I be?"

Sam finally levelled a look at Gabriel, and Gabe understood why he had been looking away.

Sam was terrified.

"Hey," Gabriel said, kneeling down in the circle. "It's okay. We'll wait til they get back."

Jody and Donna stood on either side of Sam, glancing back and forth between the two, as Rowena watched cautiously from the bannister.

"Hey, Uncle Gabe?" Jack said, coming to stand worryingly close to the fire. "Do you like Cracker Jacks?"

Gabriel looked up at him. "Yeah."

"I'll go get some, then," Jack announced, heading towards the kitchen.

Gabriel watched him leave curiously. "Cute kid."

"Got em!" Charlie yelled, running to Sam with a pair of black-rimmed glasses in her hands.

Sam took them wordlessly and stood up, every year he had lived visible in the tension of his shoulders. "Okay." He put them on and looked into the fire.

Charlie watched as Gabriel gave Sam a small smile from the ground. "Well," he asked, "how do I look?"

Sam didn't move for a long time, and, when he did, no one quite had time to grab him before he stepped quickly across the fire and knelt before Gabriel, arms circling him tightly.

Maggie and Claire ran back in, out of breath. "The portal is closed," Maggie announced. She looked at the state of the room and whispered to Claire, "So who  _ is _ that?"

Claire watched as Gabriel's hands shook ever-so-slightly against Sam's back. "That's Cas's brother," she whispered back.

\---

Dean woke up with his face pressed firmly against Castiel's chest.

Goddammit.

God—

_ Goddammit! _

"Goodmorning, sleepyhead," Castiel deadpanned.

_ "Goodmorning, sleepyhead," Dean had whispered into Castiel's hair, smiling. _

_ "Ten more minutes," Cas grumbled, burrowing further into Dean's arms. _

Dean jerked himself away from Castiel.

"Ah," Cas sighed, running a hand through his own hair. "We're back to this, I see."

"Did you hold me all night?!"

"Yes. So kind of you to notice."

"Why?"

"Why did I— You were having a nightmare, Dean. I did what I could." Castiel rolled his eyes at the ceiling, crossing his arms angrily. Every time. Every  _ damn _ time—

"Thank you."

It was small, so small Cas almost didn't hear it. "What?"

"I said thank you. For doing that. My nightmares can be… rough. Even more so lately, it seems."

"No… No problem." Castiel looked over at Dean. "What do you dream about?"

"Lately? Either I won't remember at all, or it'll be…" Dean trailed off, looking away. His fingers traced the marks in the ceiling shyly. "It'll be Alastair."

"Alastair?" Castiel repeated, more out of pure shock than anything else.

"God, right?" Dean laughed. "That's… That's new. I guess. I dunno. I never really dreamed in Hell." He paused. "Unless, of course,  _ this _ is Hell."

"It's not," Castiel responded immediately. "What do… What do you dream about him?"

Dean furrowed his brow. "It's mostly the moments he was nice. Ya know, to fuck with me. But it was just… such a relief, I guess, and…" Dean pressed his palm hard against the roof. "He got in my head."

Castiel stared at Dean, maddening confusion in his eyes. "You never told me that."

"I'm telling you now."

"Yes. You are. Please, proceed."

"No judgement?"

"No judgement."

\---

Alastair had ram's horns.

That's how I could tell him apart from all my other tormentors. Their horns were twisted and gnarled, but Alastair…

Alastair was sleek.

He'd take his time, torturing me. He enjoyed it. He ate my screams like they were grapes. He drank blood from my stomach like wine from a wineskin.

But then. Sometimes. I'd break a little.

I remember distinctly, actually. The first time I broke down and cried. He put his hand against my cheek and took me off the rack, as soft as anything. He fucking— he held me. All night. And when I stopped crying—

He started all over.

When I dream of him, he's always comforting me. But I know, right, deep down, that he's just gonna torture me again. And dammit if I don't care, because that's the future and this is  _ now _ , he's holding me  _ now _ so what does tomorrow matter?

It's fucked up. I wish I could just push him out of my fucking head. Just take him in my fist and crush him. I hate that he made me feel safe. I hate that I knew him. But that's Hell, right? That's what happens when you sell your soul for your brother?

Did I tell you that's how I got down here?

I'd sell it all over again if I knew that Sam was safe somewhere.

\---

Dean cleared his throat. "Um, hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Why are  _ you _ down here?"

Castiel cracked a smile. "Kept too many guinea pigs."

Dean barked out a laugh. "What?"

"Ate shellfish."

"Cas!" Dean admonished, grinning.

"Jaywalking."

Dean snorted, his laughter rumbling pleasantly across Castiel's ears, all tension gone.

Cas leaned in close and stage-whispered, "I'm afraid this trench coat is also made of mixed fibers, so I rather did come here in style."

"I'm stuck forever with a mad man," Dean whispered back, laughter still rising slowly out of his chest.

"Too bad I don't have my mp3 player. I have a few pirated songs you'd simply  _ love." _

"An mp3 player?" Dean fucking  _ lost _ it. He laughed so hard tears streamed from his eyes. "God, Cas!  _ That's _ why they sent you to Hell! Who the fuck still has an  _ mp3 _ player?!"

"Jaywalkers, Dean. We've been over this."

Dean snorted, and the night was lost to banter and smiles and laughs.

Maybe Castiel couldn't rid Dean of his nightmares, but he could offer these small solaces.

It took Castiel three days to remember that Dean carried around an mp3 player until 2015, a full six years after Castiel had ever met him.

\---

"Thanks," Gabriel mumbled, wrapping his bone-cold hands around the hot chocolate. His hair was freshly wet from the shower, and he shivered. Rowena sat across the table from him silently.

Sam swung a blanket around Gabriel's shoulders. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm at the tail end of a terrible cold." Gabriel rested his head on the heel of his hand, closing his eyes. "What exactly happened here?"

Sam met Rowena's eyes momentarily. "We'll tell you later. For now, just focus on regaining your strength. You were dead for a while."

Gabriel just nodded tiredly.

"Ye feel awful, don't ye?" Rowena finally said softly.

When Gabriel opened his eyes, they were glowing soft gold. "I feel stitched together."

Sam resisted the urge to reach out and clasp a hand to Gabriel's shoulder. The moment Sam had asked everyone to give Gabriel some space for a while, Gabe's joyful demeanor dropped. The smile had slipped off his face as the last person had slipped out the door. It was just the three of them now, and Sam felt guilty at how honored he was to be able to see Gabriel like this. To be  _ trusted _ like this.

Sam sat down beside Gabriel, watching him carefully. "We've got you now. You're safe here."

Gabriel nodded, finally taking a sip of his drink. "Sorry about your brother," Gabe said.

Sam grimaced. "Sorry about yours."

Gabe's eyes flicked over to Sam's. "What happened to mine?"

"The same thing that happened to Dean."

Gabriel jolted, eyes wide. "Cas is dead?!"

"What? No! They're both alive!"

But Gabriel was shaking his head madly. "No, no, no. I  _ heard _ Castiel. He  _ woke me up _ in the Empt—"

Sam crashed his hand into Gabriel's mouth, effectively silencing him. "We don't say its name," Sam told him tensely.

Gabriel looked down to Sam's hand, then back to Sam. "Mmk," he said, muffled.

Sam removed his hand, sighing. "What do you  _ mean _ Castiel woke you up?"

"The mourning call. Didn't the kid hear it? It woke all of us up. It… hurt."

"So that's what it was? I mean, we had a theory, but—"

"I'm sorry, Sam." Gabriel looked like he wanted to say more, like he wanted to break some terrible news to him. But he didn't. "What do you need me to do?"

"Need you to…?" Sam didn't understand the question. It rattled around in his brain, trying to process. 

"You brought me back from the dead. I'm sure you need something from me."

And wasn't that just a kick in the ass? "I don't—" Yes, yes he did need something. "Why would you think—"

_ Because it's true, _ his mind supplied.  _ You only brought him back for your plan. You would have left him to rot otherwise. You saved him because he was  _ **_useful,_ ** _ not because you cared. _

Gabriel raised a tired eyebrow at him. "You alright there, Samster?"

"I don't… You know I would never—"  _ But you would. But you  _ **_did._ **

"Sam?"

_ Go on, then. Tell him what part he plays. Tell him what you need him for. Be  _ **_God_ ** _ to him. _

Sam rested a hand on Gabriel's cheek absently, causing Gabriel to go utterly still. "We'll find another way," Sam found himself saying. "I saved you because you're my friend."

"Don't bullshit me," Gabriel said shakily.

"There's always another way," Sam repeated quietly, resolutely.

Gabriel glanced over at the blurry outline of Sam's hand still against his cheek. "Okay," he breathed.

There was a soft knock against the doorframe. The three adults looked up to see Jack smiling sheepishly, holding a box of Cracker Jacks.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said.

Gabriel grinned at him, immediately sitting up straight. "You bet your feathery ass I am!"

Sam ducked into the kitchen to start cooking supper. He needed something to do with his hands, his hands that shook like earthquakes.

Because how the fuck did he ever think that was okay?

He had his answer, it seemed, to whether or not he was a terrible person.

_ "Charlie!" he had yelled, running across a silent and cold Bunker. "CHARLIE!" _

_ "I'm here," she responded, bounding into the room. "What's wrong?" _

_ "I did it, I found a way out," he said breathlessly, excitedly. _

_ Charlie gaped at him, eyes wide. "What?" _

_ Sam held out an old book, with a single line highlighted in yellow, again and again and again. _

**_The Ma'lak box was designed to hold one powerful entity._ **

_ "I don't… I don't understand," Charlie said, eyes reading and rereading. _

_ "Charles!" Sam said, tears in his eyes and an insane smile on his lips. "Don't you see? It's made to hold  _ **_one._ ** _ We just need to put in  _ **_two."_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" by Creedance Clearwater Revival
> 
> "Someone told me long ago  
> There's a calm before the storm  
> I've known  
> It's been coming for some time."


	41. 11 Minutes

_ War. Death. Fighting. _

_ Kamikaze and war heroes, blades piercing stomachs. _

_ Eyes flashing, lips begging to be forgiven, forgiven, forgiven— _

_ They are cast down below. _

Gabriel woke up with a gasp, chest heaving. It was dark. It was dark it was dark it was—

Light? Light, there. Over there.

Gabriel stumbled into furniture, over carpets and into walls, until he pushed a door open.

Sam looked up in surprise, books spread before him like a feast, like a sacrifice.

"Gabriel," Sam said. "You're awake."

Gabriel couldn't quite remember which language it was, which sounds needed to form on his tongue to be understood. So he stood there, barefoot, in the doorframe of Sam's bedroom.

"You can come in," Sam told him gently, turning his attention back to his books. "I just— I know I'm missing something."

Gabriel's feet dragged over the wooden floor. He pulled out a chair disjointedly and sat heavily in it.

Sam motioned to the mini fridge nearby. "There's ah, beer in there if you want some."

Gabriel stared at Sam instead.

Sam sighed and closed a book, lifting his head to stare at Gabe right back. Sunken eyes, trembling hands, dilated pupils. "Nightmares are rough," Sam said gently.

"Nightmare," Gabriel responded, laying his head in his hands.

Sam reached out and held his hand open under Gabriel's eyes, palm up. "I'm real," he said, jagged scar on full display. "And I know the feeling."

Gabe's fingers came to trace the white line, frowning. "I know you're real. I just feel…"

"Lost?"

"Yeah."

"You were dead for a long time, Gabe. It'll take a while for things to get back to normal."

"Normal," Gabriel huffed.

"As normal as things get around here." Sam squeezed Gabriel's fingers gently before grabbing another book to browse through.

Gabriel sat quietly, eyes trained on every small move that Sam made. "Can I help?"

Sam shrugged and handed over a book. "Just… see if inspiration strikes you."

"Inspiration," Gabriel murmured. He paused, tasted the word again on his tongue. "Uh, Sam?"

"Hm?"

"How long have we been speaking in Enochian?"

Sam laughed, and Gabriel saw tectonic plates shift around the corners of his eyes. "Since you got here."

Gabriel looked down at his book, trying to focus letter by letter. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes trained down.

“I’m fine, Gabe. Really.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And why is that?”

Gabriel frowned, almost looked up, caught himself. “You’re doing the same thing I do.”

“I don’t eat many sweets, Gabe,” Sam mumbled.

“No.” Gabriel turned the page, still unsure what had been on it to begin with. “The mask thing. You’re pushing everything down because everyone is watching you.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a long time. “If you came here to psychoanalyze me, don’t.”

“Not criticizing you. Just saying you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“Not pretending.”

Gabriel pursed his lips. “Okay. If that’s how you want to be.” He flashed a grin at Sam, reaching over to grab a beer. “Archangels don’t need to sleep, anyway! I’ll stay up and help you, dear Sammy-boy, until we can get those two absolute bastards out of the Great Big Time-Out Box.” He used the table edge to pop the cap off, taking a swig. “Might I suggest keeping some nice dessert wines around? They’re  _ way _ classier than this shit.”

Sam winced at the chipper attitude. “Gabe—”

“And another thing.  _ You,” _ Gabriel punctuated his words with another drink, “are still out of chocolate. Which absolutely won’t do. We have to hit up the grocery store tomorrow, at least until I recharge and can snap us up some edible body paint.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Sam closed his eyes, lost his fingers in his own tangled hair. “You don’t have to—”

Gabriel propped his bare feet up on the table. “I don’t have to do  _ anything, _ Sam. That’s the point of my entire luxurious existence. Lavish foods and decadent women and—” Gabriel met Sam’s eyes with fiery intensity, “masquerades.” He threw back the rest of the beer in a single motion. “I’m gonna go see if Rowena is awake. Don’t wait up.” He stopped at the doorway, turned back around. “Unless, of course, you want to.” And with a wink, he was gone.

Sam slammed his books shut.

\---

It was dark in the lab. Sam didn't really see the need to turn the lights on. Little halos of green and red lights echoed across the darkness, blinking as machine after machine chugged along.

He was doing better.  _ He was. _ But some days, some nights, some midmornings, some midjogs… he just… missed them. It was the dumbest things that set him off, too. A flower Castiel had once lectured him about for an hour. A specific brand of kale that Dean once ate out of spite. Bare feet thrown up on a table, beer in hand. Little things that maybe weren't so little after all.

When Sam missed Dean and Castiel, he didn't miss the big things. He didn't miss their adventures, their work, anything like that. He missed late night gossip sessions. He missed rolling the windows down and scream-singing songs. He missed movie marathons and pointless debates.

Dean's chair had dust in it.

Sam brushed it off gently, reverently.

He missed them.

He walked over to the computers, examining the screens. The screens that always said, in ones and zeroes, "You will never see your brother again."

His blood froze in his veins.

There, on the screen, a single blip.

_ Dean. _

Sam was pressing buttons and pulling levers. He needed to call Charlie but  _ fuck _ that because he couldn't wait, he had this chance  _ now _ and he needed to take it  _ now _ and—

Ugh, fine.

He shot Charlie a quick text and ran to his own chair, sat in it, heart so far up his throat it tasted like the future.

Charlie yawned as she jogged into the room. "Alright, what's so important?"

Sam's eyes were wide. "There's— on the computer— it's—"

Charlie was at the screens in seconds. "Oh my god," she whispered, before laughing. "Oh my god!" She began typing in commands. "Okay. Alright. Let's get this show on the road."

Sam let out a relieved sigh. "I'm glad you're back," he told her.

She flashed him a grin as she pressed enter. "Counting down. 10. 9. 8. 7."

Sam couldn't help the grin on his own face.

"6. 5… wait. Wait. Sam!"

Something in her tone made him turn around, see horror on her face. "What—"

_ "Close your eyes!" _ Charlie yelled, running for him.

"Why would I—"

\---

Castiel's eyes snapped open.

All of them.

"No," he whispered.

\---

"Cas? You okay?" Dean asked. They had been discussing their pasts, their likes and dislikes, and Castiel had gone completely still.

Dean poked him a few times. "Uh, dude?"

\---

Sam winced at the sound. It was both increasingly harsh, and like no sound at all. The Void was dark, darker than he could ever remember it being.

There were what felt like hot tears running down his cheeks. But Sam wasn't crying.

\---

"Castiel, Earth to Castiel, come in Castiel."

Castiel took in a deep breath, eyes flashing open. "I'm here."

"You had me worried there, man."

Castiel flexed his fingers. "And why is that?"

Dean blinked in surprise. "Because I—… I care about you, Castiel."

"Oh," Michael said, reaching Castiel's hand out to caress Dean's throat. "Let's talk about that, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to aloha_cowgirl for introducing me to this song! (And the video!)
> 
> Title taken from "11 Minutes" by Halsey and Yungblood
> 
> "I think I missed you callin' on the other line  
> I'm just thinkin' all these thoughts up in my mind  
> Talkin' love but I can't even read the signs  
> I would sell my soul for a bit more time"


	42. See You Again

"Castiel," Sam said, suddenly understanding.

There was a low rumble, like Cas was about to say something but then thought better of it.

Sam wiped at his own cheeks, fingers sticky and metallic. "I'm… I'm bleeding, aren't I?"

Cas didn't say anything.

"One rumble for yes, two for no."

There was a rolling sound, like thunder on the horizon, and a deep, permeating feeling of apology.

"It's okay, I should've looked at the screens more. I was just so excited that I— it doesn't matter. What's done is done."

Castiel made some un-nameable sound.

"I wish I could understand you. I haven't seen you in… God, Cas… it's been years…" Sam's breath trembled. "I would've… you know I would've tried to… but this is why…"

There was a… hand? against his cheek, soft and forgiving. The softest thing he had ever felt, and littered with hard, jagged scars.

 _Sam,_ Castiel mouthed.

\---

Charlie skidded to a stop beside Sam, wasting no time in screaming out, “GABRIEL!”

She could hear his feet running down the hall and wished he was strong enough to fly. He rounded the corner quickly, coming to a halt inside the door.

“Sam—”

Charlie was already dragging Gabriel over. “Fix him,” she commanded. “Do something!”

Gabriel’s eyes were wide, glancing back and forth so quickly colors were blurring. “I don’t… What is… What is all this?”

 _“Damn you angels!”_ she screamed, running back to the computers.

Gabriel watched as blood flowed down from Sam’s closed eyes. “I don’t understand…”

“This is too long, it’s taking too long,” she rambled to herself, typing as quickly as she could. _“Fuck!”_

Gabriel looked at her blankly before putting his hand on Sam’s head. He could fix the eyes. Probably. Maybe.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Ephphatha,” Gabriel whispered, and then he touched Sam’s ears.

\---

“—ve you,” Castiel said softly.

Sam’s eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. “What… What did you just say?”

Castiel stilled, and then there was a soft, heavenly laugh. “Oh, don’t tell me _both_ of you can hear me now?”

“I… Yes, yes I can hear you.”

The hand on his cheek moved to his ear, and there was a puzzled hum. “Strange. It almost feels like— nevermind. Sam, my friend, what are you doing here?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond and found he couldn’t.

“Sam?”

“Castiel,” Sam breathed. “I didn’t… I never thought that I would…”

“Yes?”

Sam thought of words, he thought of phrases and sentences and paragraphs and novels. He could talk forever, he was sure, on why he couldn’t talk. “I missed you,” he finally whispered.

“I missed you, too, Sam.”

And here was Sam’s best friend, his brother, his battlecry, his rock, his shield, his shelter.

Ah, yes.

 _Those_ were tears.

Castiel wiped them away gently. “Do not be sad. I imagine we are not here for long. Please, tell me about your life. It’s been — well, I suppose almost three years for you.”

“I— I, I adopted Jack.”

Castiel laughed softly. “Yes, I remember hearing about that.” There was electricity in the air, a stillness. “Wait…”

“And Claire. She… She’s keeping me sane, I think. She’s dating Maggie now.”

Castiel looked down at Sam, and, though Sam could not see it, there was worry on his face. “Have you… been here before?”

“A few times, yeah.”

There was a heavy noise, like Castiel had sat down, hard. “You’ve been here before,” Cas whispered. “Was it… Who was…”

“I talked to Dean. But then he… ya know, sold you his soul and all that, and we couldn’t find you two anymore.”

“I told him we were alone,” Castiel said, mostly to himself. “I told him you couldn’t be real.”

Sam blinked in surprise. “You did?”

“Of course I did! I was positive you were merely Michael trying to undo all that we had accomplished together!”

“That’s… valid, I suppose. But uh… no. It was really me.” Sam winced. “Is he mad that we haven’t seen each other? I know he… he pulled me back but I was too far away.”

Castiel didn’t say anything.

“He’s that pissed, huh?” Sam placed his head in his hands, sighing. “At least he has you to keep him level.”

“Sam…”

“Which, congratulations, by the way. I’m happy for you two. We can have a party of some kind when we get you out of here.” Sam smiled fondly. “You know, he’s always been in love with you. I guess he just needed this to finally tell you. Gosh, you know once he had a _siren_ that looked like you? He begged me not to tell you, but I think it doesn’t really matter now. Plus, it’s my job as an annoying little brother. Brother-in-law?”

It started raining.

Sam felt the cool drops roll down his cheeks, wash away his blood. “I didn’t know there was weather here.”

“Sam,” Castiel whispered.

“Am I rambling?”

Castiel stretched one giant wing out over Sam, shielding him from the rain. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I’m just… so happy to see you again.” Sam shot him a shy smile. “How have you been? What’s it like down there? Dean and I never get to talk about that. We have a schedule, see, to make sure everything stays in line.”

Castiel looked at Sam’s smile, his relieved aura. “It’s… cold.”

Sam frowned and looked down a moment. “Uh. Um, I think I’m supposed to ask you what the… _ser umd_ was about?”

Castiel shivered. “You heard that?”

“Not… Jack did, and I heard it through Jack.” Sam wrapped his arms around himself absently. “I thought I was going to lose him.”

Thunder rumbled. “Sam, I…” Castiel’s feathers ruffled, his heads turned every direction, looking for a way to say what had happened without causing Sam harm. “I lost him,” was all he managed.

The rain poured.

Sam half-laughed in confusion. “You… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Michael got to him.”

“Michael…”

“He erased every memory of me.”

“I don’t—”

And Castiel felt human again, for how many emotions were pouring out of him. “Dean doesn’t remember me. He thinks… He thinks I’m Alastair.”

“He… He thinks he’s in Hell.”

“He doesn’t remember anything past it, because I was always there. _Fuck! Why_ was I always there?!” Castiel placed many heads in many hands, wings turning sharp and razor-like. “I don’t understand! He should remember Lisa! He should remember being a demon! Those weren’t me! I wasn’t _there!”_

Sam shuddered, tears fell. “It makes perfect sense,” he said, voice cracking.

“How? _How?!”_

And Sam smiled at him, sad and apologetic. “Because he never stopped thinking about _you.”_

\---

“Cas?” Dean said weakly, backing away from the hand at his collarbone. “What do you mean?”

“What do _you_ mean, Dean? When you say you care about… me?” Michael observed Dean in the dark, taking a deep inhale through a borrowed nose. It felt good to stretch. It felt good to be _free._

“I… I dunno. You’re the only friend I have now. You… make me laugh. I appreciate that. We’re friends.” Dean flinched. “Aren’t we friends?”

“You fell asleep in my arms last night, Dean. You tell me.”

Dean’s shoulders tensed. “You keep the nightmares away. You know that.”

“Sure, but… shouldn’t a full-grown man be able to handle a few nightmares?”

Dean blinked, suddenly very unsure. “They’re… Hell. They’re Alastair.”

“Exactly. I don’t necessarily think I should have to console you about a few wet dreams about your tormentor.”

Dean grit his teeth, every muscle within him rising to the challenge. “Where the fuck is this coming from?”

“I’m just… tired, I think. Of hearing you ramble on about everything pointless in existence. Do you _ever_ stop talking?”

“Maybe I would if you ever had anything interesting to say,” Dean snapped back.

“Maybe next time I should just shut you up.”

 _“Maybe you sho—_ wh-what?”

Michael grabbed his face, pulled it in close. “I _said,_ maybe next time, I should just shut you up.”

“You’ll… You think you can shut _me_ up?” Dean tried to get back into his angry swing. Something was wrong. Something was off.

“I am a warrior of Heaven, Dean. I was trained to get people to scream. I’m sure I can do the same thing to get you to stop talking.”

Dean growled at him, shoving him off. “Good fuckin’ luck. I was taught how to torture by _Hell,_ you ass.”

“Go ahead, then, Winchester. Make my day. _Torture me.”_

Dean froze. "What?"

“Go on. Do it.”

“I—”

_“DO IT!”_

Dean pushed Castiel against the side of the box roughly, hellfire in his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do!”

“I’ll do whatever I want! You think you _mean_ something to me? You think you’re _worth_ something, Dean?” Castiel’s eyes glinted in the dark. “Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.”

There it was again. Something… not quite right. Dean felt it, felt it shift, turn sideways, and…

Oh.

Oh, _fuck._

“You want me to torture you, Castiel?” Dean muttered, arms braced against the metal coffin.

“I want you to try.”

Dean smirked. “Very well.”

Michael paused. “Wait—”

Dean leaned in and bit Castiel's bottom lip, pulling back slowly.

Michael pushed him off. _“What the_ **_fuck?!”_ **

Dean hit the other wall. Hard. “I th-thought we were—”

“We were _not!”_

“So you _didn’t_ possess Castiel because you wanted to bone me?”

“NO, I—” Michael stopped. His laugh built slowly. “You’re smarter than you seem.”

“I get that a lot.” Dean calmed his racing heart. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“Too late for that, buddy.”

“An enemy.”

“Now, _that_ I believe.”

“My name is Michael. You trapped me in here with you.”

Dean frowned. “Michael?”

“Yes.”

“What a horrible villain name. That’s like… gay-neighbor-next-door name. Manager name. Not _villain_ name.”

Michael’s eyebrow twitched. “I’ve been trapped inside your head.”

“You’ve seen all my thoughts?”

“Unfortunately.”

Dean snorted. “No wonder you don’t wanna bone me.”

"Are you… Are you taking this seriously? At all? Do you understand that I could kill you?"

Dean said, slowly, as if trying to speak another language, _"I don't know who you are."_

Michael blinked in surprise. "I… no. I suppose you wouldn't."

"You're just the gay manager next door to me."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "You're stalling."

"Obviously, yeah."

"For what?"

"Uh, Cas. Also obviously. You know, you're not giving me many reasons to be scared of you."

"You think Castiel can defeat me?"

"Uh. _Duh._ And I think you think so, too."

Michael scoffed. "What gave you _that_ idea?"

"You waited until he was gone to talk to me. You're afraid."

"I am _not!"_

"Cool. Stick around until he gets back then."

"I… I physically cannot do that. I'm piloting his body."

Dean made chicken noises.

"I can erase every memory from your mind."

"Erase this meeting then, would ya? Because it's an _absolute_ waste of my time."

Michael smirked and leaned in close. "I can tell you how long you've been down here," he whispered.

Dean's eyes widened.

\---

"What's your plan?" Castiel asked Sam softly, the rain having stopped.

"I'm afraid I feel a bit guilty telling you," Sam admitted, head down.

Castiel looked around the giant Void, spread his sparse wings as far as he could. "I see."

"It's not that I don't want to—"

"No, Sam. I mean, I see why you feel guilty. But… don't. You're right. I would prefer to stay with Dean. Both or none."

Sam shook his head, the burden he couldn't even tell Claire finally lifting. "I could just hold out my hand, and when Charlie pulls me back—"

"You would have an untethered angel in your Bunker. Sam. Do not beat yourself up over this. I _want_ to stay with Dean. Every day we grow closer."

"You don't know how many times I wanted to come get you," Sam whispered.

"Thank you for not," Cas whispered back.

"When I pull Dean over, it's just his consciousness. But _you_ … You _are_ your consciousness."

Castiel beamed at him, and though Sam couldn't see it, he could feel it. "Sam, I do very much so love you. But do not waste your life on this. We _will_ be fine. I promise."

"It hasn't even been three years!"

"For _you,"_ Castiel said pointedly. "Time travels different for us."

Sam sighed. "I know."

"Also," Castiel continued, "I wouldn't even have a vessel. That's a major problem right there, which I'm sure your eyes can attest to. I am still sorry about that, by the way."

"I have Gabriel for both of those things," Sam said off-handedly.

There was static in the air. “Gabriel?”

“Yeah we… busted him out of the — you know.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Why won’t you say its name?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “We can’t have it listening. All we have is the element of surprise.”

“Sam, do _not_ mess with it. It is far more powerful than you can bear to fathom.”

“I mean, we got Gabriel out, so how powerful is it really?”

The corners of Castiel’s many mouths twitched. “Tell my brother I said hello.”

Sam looked down at his chest, though he couldn’t see anything. “I think he’s listening, actually.”

Castiel hummed, and then mumbled something in what was almost Enochian, but not quite. Like Pre-Enochian, old and ancient. “Sam,” he said when he had finished, “it really is wonderful to see you. I didn’t quite think I ever would again.”

“I was beginning to think the same,” Sam responded softly. He could feel a soft tugging, like he didn’t have much more time. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know.”

And there was so much Sam wanted to say still, but he couldn’t. “I love you, Cas,” he finally said.

Castiel smiled, and it was like the sun had come out on a rainy day. “I love you, too, Sam,” he said.

Sam held his arms out at full length. “Give me your face.”

Castiel laughed. “Which one?”

“Yes.”

There was a low, pleasant rumble, and Sam felt his fingers fill with mane.

“Are you— Are you a lion?”

“Sometimes.”

Sam grinned and rested his forehead against Castiel’s. “I promise to get you out.”

“Don’t promise that.”

“Then what do you want me to promise?”

Cas hummed in thought, and then nuzzled Sam’s face. “Promise me you will try to be happy.”

Sam let out a low breath before nodding. “I promise.”

“Then I am content.” He pressed his mouth to Sam’s cheek.

Sam closed his eyes a moment. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“Can you roar?”

There was that feeling of sun again. “I can, yes.”

“Can I hear it?”

Castiel chuckled. “Yes.” He leaned back and stood up to his full height, faces aimed towards the hellish Heavens. “Are you ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

Castiel leaned his heads back and roared, and Sam couldn’t have smiled harder if he tried.

\---

“Sam!” Charlie said, rushing over and pulling him out of the chair. “Sam, can you hear me?”

Sam laughed softly, still overcome. “Yeah, I can.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve checked the readings, I should’ve—”

“Charlie.” Sam reached out, taking a few tries to hold her face in his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Your eyes,” she sobbed.

“Will be fine. And even if they’re not, it’s okay.” He found his arms filled suddenly and completely with Charlie, who was shaking.

Gabriel pushed Sam softly with his foot. “You’re an idiot,” Gabe told him.

Sam turned towards his voice. “Thank you, too. That meant worlds to me, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shrugged, face red. “Look, I won’t be able to fix your eyes for a few days, minimum. This might be a Rowena problem.”

Sam nodded and held Charlie tighter. _Gabriel,_ he prayed. _Let’s talk later._

“Okay,” Gabriel whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated early this time bc why not!
> 
> Title taken from "See You Again" by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth
> 
> "How could we not talk about family when family's all that we got?  
> Everything I went through you were standing there by my side  
> And now you gonna be with me for the last ride  
> It's been a long day without you, my friend  
> And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again"


	43. Hold Your Breath

Sam played with the back of his sunglasses, making them bounce up and down on his nose. He had never bothered to learn Braille, and now he kinda wished he had.

“How’s that spell coming along?” he asked Rowena.

“Same as the last fourteen times ye’ve asked.”

Sam laughed softly. “Ah.”

“Why don’t ye go do somethin’ useful?”

“Annoying you isn’t useful?” Sam asked, mock surprised.

“Afraid not, Sam. An’ I can’t send ye on supplies runs, either. Ah, hello, Gabriel.”

Sam listened as bare feet plodded into the room. “Heya, Rowena. Sam.”

Sam pulled out a chair for him, which he took. “Haven’t seen you around in a few days,” Sam remarked.

“Was that a fucking pun.”

Sam snorted. “It wasn’t meant to be, but I guess it was.”

Gabriel frowned. “I’m sorry I couldn’t heal your eyes.”

“It’s whatever. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, though.”

“And I’ve been avoiding said talk.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Sam said, trying to shove him playfully but instead high-fiving the air beside him.

Gabriel raised his eyebrow at the hand. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Sam told him, leaning his arms on the tabletop. “For saying nothing was wrong.”

Gabriel picked at a splinter in the wood.

“I was wrong to lie to you like that.”

Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly.

“Ach,” Rowena growled. “Jest talk to him already, would ye? Christ, ye two are worse than Fergus!”

Gabriel grumbled, “At least he can’t make those damned puppy eyes right now.”

Sam gave him a small smile that quickly melted away. “Truth is, I’m not okay. Sometimes I am, like on the camping trip we went on. But then sometimes I’m not. And everyone is worried about me, and everyone stopped their lives to take care of me, and I feel like I can’t let them down, ya know?”

Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Bet that’s a lot like how Dean feels.”

“I—” Sam stopped, realization slowly crossing his face. “I guess you’re right.” He frowned, lost in his thoughts. “Look. I’m past the point where I just sit around screaming and crying every day. But I’m not okay, either, and I don’t know if I ever will be. And it’s easier to just tell you I’m fine than to tell you I’m not.”

Gabriel shook his head, scowling. “Just don’t _lie_ to me, Sam! We need each other, okay? You can’t do that kinda shit.”

Sam nodded. “I know. No more lies, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rowena picked up her bowl, making her way over slowly. “Sam,” she said, “I’m gonna need ye to hold still and take those glasses off.”

Sam removed the sunglasses carefully, empty eye sockets jarring against his face. “Okay.”

Rowena grimaced at the sight and met Gabriel’s eyes.

“Can I help?” Gabriel asked quietly.

“O’ course,” Rowena replied. “This is a salve I made. It has to be an unbroken circle around each eye. Ye can take the left eye.”

Each of them dipped two fingers in the salve and gently rubbed it around Sam’s eyes.

“Sam,” Gabriel said, almost laughing. “No crying while we’re trying to fix your dumbass-ed-ness.”

“Sorry,” Sam whispered, throat tight.

Rowena’s free hand found his own, and he squeezed it.

“Ye need to talk abou’ it?” Rowena asked softly.

“Nah,” Sam said, relaxing into the sensation. “Just… feel loved right now, that’s all.”

Gabriel looked to Rowena, and Rowena looked to Gabriel.

“Bitch,” Gabriel deadpanned at Sam, sending him into giggles so loud they had to pause in the healing. “You want a kiss with that? You know I’m happy to oblige.”

Sam grinned. “How about you two ask me that when I can see?”

Gabriel cleared his throat and Rowena blushed madly, both reaching for the bowl of salve again.

“Ye’re terrible at flirtin’, Sam,” Rowena chided.

Sam smiled at her, all bright teeth and dimples. “Who said I was flirting?”

\---

The goodbyes were easy, easier than any that Sam had had before.

Jody and Donna both pulled him in for a hug that left him feeling a little misshapen. “Drive safe, you two,” Sam told them, squinting in the sunlight.

“When do we ever do anything else?” Donna teased back, grinning at him. “Ya keep an eye on these kids, y’understand?” She turned to the three musketeers. “And ya three keep an eye on Sam. Don’t let him get into another pickle like this was.”

“No pickles,” Jack said solemnly, earning himself a laugh and a light punch from Claire.

Jody smoothed Sam’s hair for him. “We’re gonna miss you, Sam. _Call us.”_

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If we don’t hear from you every week, we _will_ be back down here.”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, and then the other. “So… don’t call you, then, is what you’re saying?”

Jody grinned at him. “You’re a good man, Sam. We love you. Don’t forget that.”

Sam hid his blush behind his smile. “I love y’all, too. Tell Mom and Bobby I said hi, okay?”

“Of course. You know they would’ve been down here.”

“Uh-huh. Tell Mom’s belly I said hi, too.”

Jody rolled her eyes fondly. “We don’t need anymore Winchesters.”

“Nah, but the world could do with a few more Singers.”

She laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Call them sometimes, too. They love you.”

“I know.” Sam gave her a smile. “And I will.”

Everyone waved from the grass as Jody and Donna’s car threw dust up onto the road, far into the distance, until they couldn’t see it anymore.

Claire shoved her hands in her pockets. “Who’s feeling baseball?”

Sam met Gabriel’s eyes, who smiled wickedly. “Oh. Oh, you’re _on.”_

_\---_

The vertigo caught Castiel off-guard as he was mercilessly shoved back into his tiny, tiny vessel.

That first lungful of water wasn’t necessarily pleasant, either.

“Dean,” Castiel said, arm reaching out for him.

“Hey,” Dean responded shakily, letting the hand rest on his cheek. “Where’d ya go, buddy?”

“I… I saw Sam.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his smile wavered. “Yeah? He doin’ okay?”

“He’s doing excellent, actually.” Castiel’s thumb brushed the ridge of Dean’s cheek. “Are you doing okay?”

“I met Michael.”

Castiel’s hand stilled. “You did?”

“Yeah. He tried to pretend to be you.”

Cas moved his hand slowly against Dean’s face, into Dean’s hair. “And you saw through that?”

Dean melted into the touch. “Yeah. I did.”

“May I ask how? Michael is a rather formidable foe.”

“He said fuck,” Dean joked, cheeks red.

Castiel’s lips twitched. “I say fuck sometimes.”

“He told me he could tell me how long I’ve been down here.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “And what did you say?”

Dean’s eyes finally opened, searching for Castiel fruitlessly in the water. “I said no.”

“You said no?” he repeated, bewildered. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dean confessed. “Why would I do that?” He grabbed at his own hair, loosing Castiel’s hand. “Why wouldn’t I be excited that you saw Sam? Why did I know that wasn’t you? I tried to kiss him,” Dean babbled, eyes wild. “I kissed him and I knew it wasn’t you. How?”

“You kissed him?” Castiel’s voice was confused, dazed.

“I thought he was you,” Dean whispered back. “But it wasn’t… It wasn’t a normal kiss I didn’t mean to—… I don’t…”

“What do you mean it wasn’t a ‘normal kiss’? Did you _make out_ with the archangel Michael?” Castiel’s hands were shaking against Dean’s face. This wasn’t what he planned on coming back to. “What do you mean you thought he was me?”

“I dream about you,” Dean whispered. “I know I do.”

“Dean—”

“Tell me you dream about me, too.”

“Every damn time,” Castiel whispered back.

“Your palms are scarred,” Dean said. “Why do I know that?”

“I—”

“Why do I know that you smell like ozone? Or that you wear the same size shoe as me? Why do I know that your hair is dark? That you like guinea pigs? That losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to me?” The earth shifted around them, and Dean was pushing Castiel roughly against the wall. “Why do I hear my own _fucking_ voice in my head telling me not to hurt you? Why do I _care_ about you, you… you…” Dean swung a fist, which Castiel easily caught. “You dumb— You _fucking—”_

“Dean!” Castiel warned.

“You _fucking_ **_angel!”_ ** His other fist swung hard, and Castiel grabbed it with his other hand, stopping it in its tracks.

“Calm down!”

 _“I CAN’T!_ Why do I know you?! What’s fucking trapped inside my head besides another entire fucking _being_ — which _someone_ never _bothered_ to tell me?!”

“Would you have believed me?!”

 _“Yes!”_ Dean all but screamed. “I believe every damn word you say! Why?!” He pushed against Castiel hard. **_“WHY?!”_ **

And Cas could feel the tremors in Dean’s arms, hear the harsh rise and fall of his chest.

Things shifted, and Castiel dropped Dean's wrists like they were hellfire.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, pleaded amidst the new feelings crashing against their sides.

Dean swung his fist once more, and Castiel ducked under it, crouched to the bottom of the box.

Dean swore as his fist collided with metal, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. How to explain this? How to say it where Dean would believe? How to guard his already heavily-guarded heart?

When Cas opened his eyes, they landed on a small carving in the wall near his feet, something he had never seen before.

Something that wasn't there when he stepped foot inside this coffin.

A heart, carved with blind hand, with _DW + CW_ inside.

Castiel snapped.

All the patience, all the yearning, all thrown back in his fucking face with this… this _epitaph_ Dean had written for himself. For them.

Castiel rose up and _swung._

His fist connected with nose, and Dean stumbled back in shock.

"You want to know why you know me, Dean?!" Castiel yelled, pushing Dean back against the wall. "You want to know why you _care?_ Why you _miss_ me?"

"Cas—"

Castiel shoved his arm across Dean's throat, effectively silencing him. _"Shut up!_ **_Shut up_ ** _when I am talking to you!"_

Dean tried to push Castiel off, but Cas grabbed that wrist and pushed it against the wall behind them, beside Dean's head.

"Listen to me now because I will _not_ be saying this again! Michael erased all of your memories. You know me. You've known me for _years,_ Dean!"

Dean growled, wriggling his best to try and loose Castiel.

"Stop _fighting_ me!" Castiel yelled, moving his arm to brace against Dean's chest. "You don't need to breathe! You _really_ think any of your bodily systems are working anymore? You are at the _bottom of the ocean!_ The weight _alone_ would have crushed you!"

Dean growled at him, eyes blazing. "So what?"

 _"So what?"_ Castiel repeated. "So _what?!_ You want to know how I got here, Dean? I _chose this!_ I chose _you!_ And you chose me too, you _asshole!_ You said forever, Dean!" Castiel pulled Dean forward only to smash him back against the wall. "You said you would love me _forever!_ Well, here we are! Here's forever, Dean! Welcome to infinity! _Where the fuck_ **_are you?!"_ **

"I—"

"You _never_ understood forever! Not when you sold your soul! Not when you got into this _fucking coffin!_ Not then! Not now! So what the fuck do I care, huh? Tell me why I care!"

Dean was pressed against his chest.

Castiel rammed him into the wall again, desperately. _"Tell me!"_

Dean's free hand rested on his hip.

The fire abandoned Castiel.

"Tell me to stop loving you," Castiel begged. "Tell me to move on."

“You wanna know how I kissed Michael?” Dean whispered, exhaled water ghosting Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel mashed his forehead against Dean's, eyes squeezed shut. He didn't say a word.

"You wanna know how I kissed _you?"_

“Dean," Castiel whispered.

"I kissed you like this."

Dean leaned in and grazed Castiel’s lip with his teeth, pulling back on it slightly, slowly.

Castiel's mouth followed his, ached to fully kiss him. "Tell me this is a terrible choice," he whispered.

"You don't need me to tell you anything," Dean rumbled. "You're a grown-ass man… angel… thing. Do you want to give up, or do you want to hold on?"

And Castiel saw the road diverge before him. "I— I don't know."

Dean's hands were on his back, trailing slowly ever-downward. "Castiel, I am dazed, right now. In a few minutes I'm likely gonna freak out over the fact that I led an entire other life I can't remember, a life where I _apparently_ fell in love with you. I'm doing my best to _not_ freak out, in the only way I know how which is channeling my emotions into my dick so do me a favor and just _make a fucking choice."_

"I've always had someone to follow," Castiel confessed. "Every time I'm on my own, I make bad choices."

Dean leaned his head back against the wall, feeling panic bubbling up inside him. He quelled it by wrapping a leg around Castiel. "Then just make a bad choice. Who gives a shit? It's just us. It's just you and me."

"You and me," Castiel repeated. His eyes traced over every familiar line on Dean's face.

"You don't need me," Dean whispered against his ear.

"I don't need you," Castiel repeated, feeling the weight of the words.

"So just choose what would make you happiest." Dean's lips were against Castiel's cheek.

"I'd like to hold on," Cas found himself saying.

Dean pulled back in a useless attempt to look into his eyes. "And this is what you want? Not what you feel you have to do?"

"Yes." Castiel breathed, and it felt like the first breath in ages. "I want to hold onto you."

Dean nodded to himself, squeezed his eyes shut. "So, those memories. How do we nab 'em?"

“We can’t. They’re gone, Dean.”

Dean took a deep breath in, held it, and let it out slowly. “Then tell me.”

“Tell you what?"

“Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Fall For You" by Secondhand Serenade"
> 
> "This is not what I intended  
> I always swore to you I'd never fall apart  
> You always thought that I was stronger  
> I may have failed, but I have loved you from the start  
> Oh, but hold your breath  
> Because tonight will be the night  
> That I will fall for you over again  
> Don't make me change my mind"


	44. Gently Creeping Vine

I met you in Hell.

It was a Thursday.

You were the Righteous Man, the one who would start the Apocalypse and bring Heaven to its full — Dean, if you could cease trying to give me a hickey, that would be fantastic.

Thank you.

You were meant to bring Heaven to its full glory as the Vessel of Michael.

\---

Castiel stared deep into Dean's eyes, and awe flooded his heart.

\---

I met you, too, on Earth.

It was a September night, warm and stormy. Lightning crackled in the air around the barn. You stabbed me — Dean, Dean quit laughing. You were quite terrified at the time.

I met you again in a locked room, decorated lavishly. I turned against my family, against everything I had ever known.

I met you again after waking up from death, from being killed by my brother.

I met you again as Emmanuel.

I met you again in Purgatory.

I met you again after Naomi.

\---

Dean shuddered at the name.

\---

I met you again at a gas station.

I met you again after the Empty.

I met you again when this box hit water.

I met you again when you kissed me in it.

I met you again when you woke up here.

I'm meeting you again now.

You and I, Dean… We find each other. Life places us at separate ends of a labyrinth and yet we still wind up in each other's arms.

\---

"So what?" Dean asked. His arm was bent and he used it like a pillow, eyes closed to listen. "We're destined? Soulmates? What?"

"I think we're simply too stubborn for anyone else to put up with."

A smile toyed with the edges of Dean's mouth. "Which of those times did ya fall in love with me?"

"Oh, all of them."

There was worry clouding Dean's features. "Why?"

"Why do I love you?"

Dean nodded.

Castiel examined him. "Is this the first time you've ever asked someone that?"

He nodded again.

"I imagine you're scared of the response, then. Or scared that, in pondering, I'll realize I don't love you after all. That was brave of you to ask me."

Dean waited.

"The truth of the matter is that I simply love you. And that is that. Any reason I could give would not be  _ why _ I love you. It would simply be  _ justifying _ my feelings. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," Dean said quietly.

Castiel thought a moment on how to get his point across, how to explain. "A lake is a lake because it's just a lake. The stars are stars because they're just stars. And I'm in love with you because I'm just in love with you."

"I don't—"

"There's no qualifier. I could tell you a lake is a lake because it is a large body of water surrounded by land. But that's saying the same thing as before, with more words. I could tell you I'm in love with you because you have always been there for me. I could tell you that your laugh is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I could tell you that I admire your bravery and your cunning. But those aren't why I love you. I love you because I love you. They're just the definition."

Dean's eyes were wide.

"You asked me why I love you. I'm assuming it was to see what you need to do or not do to keep me around. Dean, I've made my choice. I'm not going anywhere."

It hit Dean, in the same knee-numbing way that bad news hits in a hospital waiting room. Castiel loved him, thick or thin. Thick or thin. Thick or thin. "Are we  _ married?" _ he asked.

_ "Are we married?" Dean whispered against Castiel's skin, voice low and rumbly. _

_ "Not… traditionally," Cas responded, hands slowly memorizing every inch he could reach. _

_ Dean winced at the splitting pain that roared across his mind. "So we kinda are?" _

_ "We swore ourselves to each other. That is, truthfully, all that marriage is." _

_ Dean's hands tangled in Castiel's hair, his lips faltering against his jaw. "Cas?" _

_ "Yes?" _

_ "I wanna—" Dean cut himself off with a harsh wince, not entirely convinced his skull wasn't cracking. _

_ "Dean?" Castiel began tilting Dean's head up, inspecting it. "Are you—" _

_ "I… I wanna sell you my soul." _

_ Castiel became deathly still. "What?" he finally whispered. _

_ "He's trying to… Michael is trying to get out and—" Dean clenched his jaw, fingers tightening harshly in Castiel's hair. "If you have… If you own my soul you're… I want you in control." _

_ "Dean, I can't—" _

_ "You're my h-usband," Dean said, voice hitching in the middle. "Right? You're my — I trust you and — Right? If you own me then Michael can't —" _

_ "I… I'd likely be able to drag you back but Dean, I won't —" _

_ And Dean's lips were against Castiel's, his face fevered and lips shaking. "I give you my soul," he murmured against Castiel's lips. "I give you my entire being. I give it freely." _

"Earth to Cas, come in Cas."

Castiel blinked, remembered where he was. "I'm sorry, I got… distracted."

"I noticed. But you didn't answer my question. Are we married?"

"Yes," Castiel whispered, eyes bouncing around the coffin in a frenzy. Things slid into place with harsh, grating noises.

"We're married. Alright." Dean swallowed harshly. "I think I'm gonna go ahead and freak out now."

"Go ahead," Castiel murmured. That was a vow. That was a bond.

Dean was breathing hard. "Not the response I was expecting but okay." His hands pressed against the ceiling.

"When you remember me, what do you remember?"

"I—"

"Events or emotions, Dean."

"Emotions," Dean choked out. His hands were shaking. "I'm  _ married? _ To a man? Dad would kill me. Dad would kill me if he could see me now."

"What kind of emotions?" Castiel focused his entire being on the energy between them, listening for any change, any tremor.

"Don't make me say it. I'm panicking right now, okay? Can we give me a bit of space?"

"Love?"

_ "Dammit, Cas!" _ Dean yelled, nails attempting to dig into the ceiling.

But Cas felt it. A swirling, pushing sensation, like a baby turning over and over in his stomach.

Castiel brushed his hand gently against Dean's cheek. "I'm sorry, Dean. Would you prefer me over there or beside you?"

There wasn’t a response for a long time. Castiel brought his hand away, only to have it grabbed and pressed back against Dean’s cheek.

“That wasn’t very nice of me,” Castiel whispered. “But it was important.”

Dean was focusing on taking water in and out of his lungs, while trying so very hard to forget that it was, in fact, water. “What? Ya get all worked up when someone yells at you?” Dean deadpanned.

“Not even a little. I think I know why you remember me. Or rather, bits of me.”

“Yeah? Why?” It felt like the walls were closing in around them, walls kept at bay only by this familiar, familiar hand.

Castiel tapped Dean’s forehead lightly. “It’s because I’m not in here.” He pressed at Dean’s upper abdomen. “I’m in here.”

“In my diaphragm?” Dean grunted.

“In your _soul.”_

\---

“Wena,” Gabriel whined, head hanging upside-down off the table. “Love me.”

“I’m workin’ on research right now, dearie,” Rowena responded, turning another page in her book.

“Wenaaaa,” Charlie whined in a purposefully bad imitation of Gabriel. “Love  _ me!” _

Rowena’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Can’t ye two keep each other company?”

“That’s no good for the future of mankind as a whole,” Gabriel informed her, simultaneously flipping Charlie off.

Rowena glanced up at the two of them. “Well, Charles here just wants a favor of some kind, I’m sure. Ye can handle that, can’t ye, Gabriel?” She flashed an innocent smile at him.

Gabriel looked to Charlie suspiciously. “What kinda favor?”

\---

“No. Nuh-uh. Absolutely not.”

Charlie turned to look at the mirror with a new angle. “But this one brings out my butt!”

Gabriel groaned, rolling his eyes. “Literally every pair of pants you try on is gonna bring out your butt. You have a good butt, Charlie Brown.”

She huffed. “This is a first date! I’ve gotta make a good impression on this girl!” Charlie leaned in, eyes wide. “Do you  _ know _ how hard it is to find other wooloowoos here?”

“Other whosits now?”

“WLW. Women loving women?”

“Just… say that. That’s good as-is.” Gabriel got up and waltzed to her closet. “What kind of girl is this? Are we trying to look tough or innocent? Or kinda… innocent-but-not-innocent-in-bed?”

“She’s one of the bartenders at this bar a town over. She’s really sweet and has the  _ coolest _ tattoos and  _ Gabriel help me _ I haven’t dated anyone in years!”

He sighed and looked back at the closet. “Here’s an idea: wear whatever the fuck you want. Why are you so worked up about this anyway? Don’t tell me all that badass confidence went away with the Sammich Eyes thing.” He turned around at the silence. “You’re kidding.”

“It was my fault,” Charlie said, rubbing her arm self-consciously. “I didn’t do all the safety checks I was supposed to. I should have caught that before it happened.”

Gabriel tossed the armful of shirts he had collected aside so he could grab Charlie’s face. “Charles. Listen to me. Are you listening?”

She nodded her head as best she could.

He squished her cheeks. “Life is life is life. Nothing is anyone’s fault and everything is everyone’s fault. The blame game is a game designed by God to justify guilt-tripping and fear-mongering. It literally  _ could not matter less _ whose fault this is.”

“But—”

“Who gains from you feeling guilty? Huh? Who benefits from this?” He shook her face. “The answer is no one, kid. So why bother? If it’s worth feeling guilty about, it’s worth  _ doing _ something about. Are you gonna do more safety checks next time?”

She nodded again.

“There.  _ That _ benefits everyone. That’s a good way to deal with this. Live, learn,  _ move the fuck on.” _

Charlie stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” she finally said.

“Okay.” He released her cheeks. “Star Wars shirt.”

She gave him a smile. “Star Wars shirt.”

\---

“Hey,” Sam said, sitting down across from Rowena. “I just wanted to tell you, if you have somewhere you’d rather be, you’re free to—”

“Not goin’ anywhere, Samuel,” she responded without even looking up.

“I’m just saying—”

“And  _ I’m _ just sayin’ that I. Am not. Goin’ anywhere. We have a job here.”

“...Okay.” Sam grabbed a book to look through. “Found any ideas?”

“Aye. Sort of. But it’s wildly complicated and has a very small chance o’ success.”

He grinned at her. “Sounds like my kind of plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "When I'm Married" by Wilder Adkins
> 
> "We will tie ourselves together  
> with a spoken solemn vow  
> and we will fight for one another  
> till they lay us in the ground"
> 
> bonus lyrics
> 
> "I have seen the mighty river  
> and I've seen the moon and stars  
> and I know there is no other  
> that could penetrate my heart  
> how you penetrate my heart  
> cause I am yours and you are mine  
> I am yours and you are mine  
> and there's a love that grows between us  
> like a gently creeping vine"


	45. I Think Of You

Maggie pushed her hair back and squinted at the coffee pot. No matter what she did, it inevitably started making carbonated coffee again every sixty days.

"Whatcha doin?" Jack asked, pushing himself up onto the counter.

"Trying to fix this blasted thing," Maggie grumbled. "I think it's just cursed."

Jack reached out and touched it with his fingertips. "Yeah. Nothing major, though. Just a bit frustrating."

Maggie snorted. "Yeah, fizzy coffee isn't  _ exactly _ what I wanna come back to after a run."

"I can't really tell a difference," Jack admitted. "I might could reverse the curse if I try hard enough, though."

"You. Can't tell the difference. Between coffee and  _ carbonated _ coffee?"

He shrugged. "The hotter something is, the more all I taste is molecules. Especially coffee." He wrinkled his nose. "It's too jittery."

Maggie gave the machine a good smack, nodding in approval when it stopped bubbling. "I've seen you drink coffee before. Is this a new thing?"

"Nah, I just like feeling included."

She flashed him a smile as she grabbed two mugs. "Want some with ice in it?"

His eyes widened. "You can  _ do _ that?"

She laughed softly and opened the freezer. "For you? Of course," she teased.

He watched her unload an ice tray. "We're both pretty new to this world, huh?" he asked, accepting the slowly-cooling drink.

"I suppose so." She brought the mug to her face, inhaling deeply. "Though sometimes I like to pretend this isn't a different reality. It can get… overwhelming."

"I know what you mean. I'm constantly learning new things, and it seems like the world just gets more complicated the older I get."

She gave him a soft smile. "Yeah, that's just how growing up is. I traded problems for problems coming here. Angels for angels."

"What was it like? I mean, when…" Jack trailed off. "Nevermind, I didn't mean to ask that."

"No, no. It's okay." Maggie stared at the ripples in her coffee. "I don't mind talking about it."

\---

I was eleven.

…

For a while, people used to ask 'Where were you when you found out?' But that only stays entertaining for so long.

I was at school. It was the last day of sixth grade. I remember I was talking to my friend Andrea about a sleepover we had planned.

And then everything just… went out. The TVs. The radio. The intercom. The phones a few kids had. Everything died.

I was told later by my dad that they tried to turn on the tornado sirens, but nothing happened.

The principal — Karlton, I don't remember his first name — came to each classroom personally to tell us we were going to wait outside for ten minutes, and if the power didn't return, we could go home.

We were kids, ya know? So we were praying for it to stay off.

I guess the angels heard us.

We waited outside. Nothing happened for a while. Then, right when Principal Karlton told us the busses had arrived to get us, the ground cracked.

It was… Jack, I don't know how to explain it. One second we were fine, chatting with our friends about what cool food we thought our parents would make for us when we got home. Then the school fell into Hell.

We stared. It was silent for a moment. I think none of us really believed what had happened.

Then everyone scattered.

I grabbed Andrea's hand. We lived down the same street, so we started running. It was a few blocks away, but I couldn't feel my legs at all. It was like I was on autopilot, focused entirely on getting home to Mom and Dad. Because they wouldn't let anything bad happen, ya know? That's how it was in my head, at least. And Andrea's too.

Her house was first, so I let go of her hand. I remember how it fit in mine. It was soft and shaking. I would have hugged her, but we were so shaken neither of us thought of it. She disappeared into her door.

I never saw her again.

I ran the rest of the way to my house. The door was hanging off the hinges.

I couldn't find my parents.

I learned… I learned later that there were fractures all across the city. Clint was with Mom that day. My brother— Clint was my brother. He was interning at Mom's work.

He was in the cafeteria when the power went out. I don't— I didn't understand then what he did, but I think I do now.

He looked out the window, saw the advancing demon army that I hadn't, and ran home. He didn't look for Mom. He didn't run to Dad. He just— He  _ knew _ I had gone home, and he ran to me.

Mom's building fell into the Earth.

He got there not long after me and told me to pack everything I could carry. We got food and water and clothes. He thought to grab our tent, we got on our bikes, and we left.

We stayed in the woods for a while, taking shifts to make sure no demons showed their faces.

And when the heavens opened, we thought our prayers were answered.

We learned that day to never pray again.

The angels descended.

God, Jack… the forest burned. The city burned.

And we learned later, our father burned.

We were out of food and drinking muddy water from puddles when we found another group of survivors.

We hadn't heard that word before. We didn't know how many humans had died. We didn't know we were being  _ hunted. _

We lived like that for years. We gained people, we lost people. But I always had Clint. He always had me.

And then the monsters attacked and wiped most of us out.

We had no choice. We couldn't feed our group, and we had heard wind of a camp that was  _ winning _ against the angels.

So we took the risk.

…

Clint didn't make it.

\---

Maggie hunched her shoulders, eyes wet. "And that's where you all come in. That's when I met Sam and Dean."

Jack's eyes were wide, coffee mug sat on the counter long ago. "Maggie… I'm so—"

"If you're going to say you're sorry, don't. It wasn't your fault my world fucked itself up. It was Chuck's. It was the angels and the demons. I'll gladly kill Chuck if they give me the chance, but something tells me he's moved on."

Jack nodded. "I think we've all given up faith in God."

Maggie sighed and took a sip of her now-cold coffee. "Here, this is cold. You can have it."

Jack took it gratefully. "Thank you." His eyes widened. "Wait. Maggie! There's a Clint here somewhere! Our own version!"

She shrugged. "Yeah. He lives in Virginia Beach with his wife and three dogs."

"You… You've talked to him?"

"No. He has an Instagram." She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times before handing it over to Jack. "He's happy. And that helps a lot."

Jack looked at the smiling man with the beautiful woman. "You have his eyes."

"He has my mom's."

"Maggie…"

"I'm glad he's happy. It's like… knowing he's somewhere better. Because my Clint—" She took a shuddering breath. "He's not."

"What happens to souls over there?" Jack whispered in horror.

"I don't know," she whispered back.

Jack reached out his hand and held it open. She took it gently, squeezing.

"I'm here for you," Jack said.

"I know. And that helps. Thank you." She gave him a wry smile. "I'm okay. Really. Just one of those days where… the hurt button keeps getting pushed."

He smiled back sadly. "I know the feeling."

"This might be an asshole thing to say but… I'm kinda glad we all know the feeling. Like, I wish we didn't have to, but… we do. And it doesn't seem to hurt quite as much when others feel it, too."

"Bobby used to tell me that family doesn't end in blood."

Maggie laughed. "Really? He used to tell me it  _ don't." _

He grinned at her. "Well, whichever it is, you're family, Mags. I love you. You know that, right? You're my best friend. Besides Claire but, she's my sister so that doesn't count."

Maggie pressed a kiss to his hand. "Thank you, Jack. I love you, too. You're my best friend. Well, besides Claire but," she winked, "she's my girlfriend so that doesn't count."

Jack laughed softly and looked around the kitchen. "Wanna make breakfast for everyone with me?"

Her eyes sparkled. "I'd love to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "I Think Of You" by Rodriguez
> 
> "Down the streets I walked with you  
> Seeing others doing things we do  
> Now these thoughts are haunting me  
> Of how complete I used to be  
> And in these times that we're apart  
> I'll hear this song that breaks my heart  
> And think of you  
> And I think of you"


End file.
